


The Red Crane of Guilin

by jl0281



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Drama, Epic Love, Family, Gen, Genetic Engineering, M/M, Regret, Romance, Science Fiction, Slow Romance, Tragic Romance, Wuxia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-04-05 21:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 62,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jl0281/pseuds/jl0281
Summary: Fifteen years ago, a clever soldier trespassed the sacred land of Guilin under the guise of a wandering artist. He beguiled the beautiful guardian of the land, fell in love with him, and betrayed him. To this day, their hearts still bleed--and there is no time, among the new threats and imminent war, to stem the flow.A tale of family, dynasty, duty, ambition, and fierce, undying love.(On hiatus)





	1. Prologue

   **THE RED CRANE OF GUILIN**

 

* * *

 

_Year 697 of the Ashless Era_

 

Anjie closed his eyes with Liyun’s trembling hand in his grip, their pulses thundering in tandem. But when he woke, he was alone.

He was in his bedroom, hued orange by the soft candlelight at his bedside. A night breeze drifted from the windows, stirring the little flames and their smoked wax scent. He breathed in. Lungs stung. Breathed out. Bones burned. Shaking, he pushed the fresh sheets off his remade body and attempted to stand. His legs shuddered. With a sore, voiceless cry, he collapsed onto the polished wooden floor.

Gentle string notes seeped through the cracks of his closed door, a distant sound too sharp for his raw ears. He ignored the ache and crawled forward, a weak thing approaching his reflection in the oval mirror. Within the chiseled mahogany frame was the same face, but stark, thin, and hairless. New scars that looked months old lined his scalp, and the deep earth of his irises had faded to a pale, fragile copper. He gripped the arm of a nearby chair and pulled himself upright.

A red silk robe covered his body. He tugged the sash loose and slipped the upper half from his shoulders, letting the fabric collect around his elbows. Faded incisions layered his chest, patterned lines drawn with mathematical precision. Watching the mirror, he turned around. Inked across the span of his back was the traditional crane of House Guan. Her long throat arched, vulnerable. Her eyes dared anyone to mar her canvas.

Anjie leaned against the chair and slid a hand over his face. His fingers closed over his lips, holding back the flood of emotions. The relief that he survived the operation. The weight of the new ink. The insidious fear, making it hard to breathe. But he breathed, deeply, three times.

He retied his robe and straightened his back. He left the room limping.

Tonight, the corridors of his home were somber and dark. When he reached the source of that string melody, a pit filled his gut.

The music came from the tea room. Beneath the archway to the night garden, young Jinyue looked up. His small fingers hovered over his instrument strings, frozen. His lower lip trembled. Beside this boy, a younger child bolted upright, spilling a cup of tea over the wooden floor. He ran toward Anjie, colliding at his waist with a stifled whimper.

Hearing the broken sound, Anjie fell to his knees. He held his little brother in his arms, those wrenched cries muffled in his robes. He looked up at the First Lord and Lady Guan, sitting behind a table, quiet among the tears of their children. A painted calligraphy character hung on the wall above their heads.

_Duty._

“Liyun,” said Anjie.

His father touched his teacup. His mother shook her head.

A silence.

“What went wrong?”

“Nothing went wrong, Ah-Jie. She simply could not endure it.”

Anjie looked down at the woven floor mat, the details of the straw sharp to the grain. Liyun? Could not endure? His fierce, infallible sister. Then how had he survived the same procedure? He clutched his chest, which seemed to be tearing apart beneath the new insulation, the reinforcement implants, the titanium bones. It seemed now that the crane upon his back weighed a hundred tons for each dot of ink. His vision burned. Threatened to blur.

“Ah-Jie.”

He looked up. The First Lord of House Guan poured a second cup of tea.

“Come.”

Swallowing, Anjie gently pulled aside his brother. He rose against the weight and the ache, and sat with folded legs across his Lord and Lady. His heart kept burning, beating itself raw against his cold new bones. But expressionless, he wore his body unbent.  

“Hold your tears now, my son. The spirit of House Guan cannot be daunted. Tomorrow we will celebrate a new crane.” His father set the cup softly before Anjie. A thin chrysanthemum petal rolled along the golden liquid. “When the full moon passes, you may grieve.”

He drank. The lukewarm tea scalded. Days later, the full moon passed.

They buried his sister within a southern hill of the Guilin mountains, where the river streamed into the turquoise lake. Her body was restored as much as it could be to its natural state so that the earth might embrace the return of her soul. Nobody was permitted into the operation room while their shamans performed the restoration. After the restoration, nobody was permitted to touch the clothes that covered her surely deformed body.

The funeral was brief. After days of feigning an iron spirit, Anjie could no longer cry when they sealed the lid of her coffin. He only soothed the trembling of his little brothers, dreading the day when they too would mature into their bones, and their bones would be recrafted to mirror the gods.

The days went by. The weeks went by. The months. He stopped visiting her grave. Instead, Anjie passed the lonely stone bridge in the mornings and tossed fresh flowers for the stream. Sometimes he stayed a while, watching the sun rise and the petals disperse.

One morning, it rained. He meant to send the flowers and be on his way, but the drops beating his fallen petals into the water kept his feet grounded on that stone bridge. The rain washed over him, drenching. The petals disappeared in an unceremonious rush.   

A shadow fell over him.

Anjie turned beneath the shelter of a red umbrella. Holding it was a young man, appearing as rough and as wild as the unadulterated beauty of Guilin, a languid, crooked smile on his lips. His eyes crinkled in their corners. A damp, curling lock of black hair plastered to his forehead.

With a gentle, windblown voice, he said, “As lovely as you look standing under the rain, you really shouldn’t.”

Anjie frowned. “I’ve not seen you here before.”

“I’ve only been here for two weeks.” The man reached into his shirt. He pulled out a folded parchment and offered it. “Here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Anjie took the parchment. It was tough, thick. Smelled of old wood and graphite. When he lifted the fold, he blinked in surprise. He looked up at the stranger, who smiled a little softer.

“You’ve been coming here for a while. I couldn’t help but notice, and then I couldn’t help myself. You can keep it. Toss it. Whatever you would like.”

Anjie’s wet fingers hovered over the image, afraid to touch. The profile of a figure on a bridge, delicacy in every stroke. Soft eyebrows drew as faint as a whisper, sketched lips parted as if trembling. The graphite man looked like he was about to cry.

Anjie did not know how long he stood looking at this picture. He only startled as a warm, wet drop splattered the sketched cheek. With a rare panic, he wiped at the drop. But his hands were still rain-soaked, smearing the gray to a blur.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

The man caught his guilty, wavering fingers. His touch was as rough as his make, warm as his smile. Anjie looked at his kind eyes and could not turn away.  

“It’s alright,” said the man. “If you like it, I can make you another.”

In the pause, the mountain rain drummed. A rhythmless, relentless wash, and yet a gentle constance.   

“I’m Musheng,” said the man eventually.

“Anjie.” Softly, “Guan An Jie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: In Chinese, the surname comes before the given name. Anjie's name is approximately pronounced Guan Ahn-Zieh (4th 1st-2nd tone for Mandarin speakers) and Musheng is Mu-shung (4th-1st tone). If you've got pronunciation/translation curiosities about any future names, ask and I'll answer!


	2. Character & Place List

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a comprehensive list. It includes only notable recurring characters/places, and will be updated as new chars/places are introduced.

**CHARACTERS**

* * *

**The Guan Family**

Guan Anjie - Eldest Guan brother 

Guan Jinyue - Middle Guan brother

Guan Wenzhan - Youngest Guan brother

Guan Wenbo - Youngest Guan sibling, a ten year old girl

Guan Baisun - Mute Guan woman, aunt to Anjie and siblings

Guan Sanhai - Guan family head doctor and shaman

Guan Ruotian - Twelve year old niece of Sanhai

Guan Liutian - A shaman doctor who had been living outside of Guilin

Mu Ziyuan - Agender right hand of the First Lord

Su Cailan - Seventeen year old attendant to Guan Jinyue

Feng Sueyi - A member of the crane generation from before Anjie's lordship

Zhang Yelu - A nine year old girl of the household

Zhang Lanyu - A crane who has been living outside of Guilin

Xi Mona - A crane who has been living outside of Guilin

Liwei - Mu Ziyuan's messenger boy

Mu Lanlun - Deceased younger sister of Mu Ziyuan

Guan Liyun - Deceased eldest sister of the Guan family

Guan Haizhen - Former First Lord of House Guan, father of the Guan brothers

Na Mingbo - Second wife of Guan Haizhen, Wenbo's mother

Jie Zhaliu - First wife of Guan Haizhen, mother of the Guan brothers

**Other**

Jun Musheng - An artist Anjie meets in Guilin in Year 697

Councilman Lang - Elderly member of the Guilin Provincial Council

Lin Suzha - A female student at the Guilin provincial college, affiliated with Wenzhan

Chang Dazhe - A visitor to Guilin in August, charged with rape by House Guan

Yu Ling - Deceased king of Yulai

Hua Jiayu - Former regent of Anzhou, head of the Hua family

Hua Junli - Younger brother of Hua Jiayu 

Quan Caihe - Regent of Anzhou

 

**LOCATIONS**

* * *

**Guilin**

Guilin - A small autonomous valley province. Present-day Jiuzhaigou National Park.

Rizhai - The central town in Guilin. Located near the valley split.

Guilinhe - A village on the outskirts of the Rizhai township. Location of the Guan estate.

Beicheng - Northmost town of Guilin province.

**Other**

Anzhou - A state of the continent, encompassing the region of what was formerly China beneath the Yangtze river to the Tibetan plateau.

Yincheng - A modern coastal city, capital of Anzhou.

Beiguo - A state of the continent, encompassing the region above the Yangtze to the northern border.

Shanjing - A mountain city, capital of Beiguo.

Xijia - A state of the continent, encompassing the western plateau and desert regions of what was formerly China.

Mosanguo - Capital of Xijia.

Yulai - A former state of the continent, once encompassing the area between the Yangtze and the Yellow River, excluding the autonomous province of Guilin.

Tianxin - Formerly the continental empire, existing from 149 to 296 of the Ashless Era.

Duling - Small town most accessible to Guilin, about a four hour drive from Beicheng.


	3. Part I: The House of Guardians | 1

**Part I**

**THE HOUSE OF GUARDIANS**

 

* * *

 

August 29th, 712 A.E.

The soft trickles of the garden pond laced with the morning birdsong and the young woman’s repressed sobs. She was a delicate girl, no older than twenty, small and doe-eyed. With a heavy shawl wrapped over her body, she seemed not to feel the late summer warmth. In fact, her slender fingers trembled beneath the hem of her nightgown. As the shawl was gently removed, those fingers clutched bone white, and the trembling shivered up to the line of her bruised shoulders.

“Here,” said the old woman at her side, pointing at the bruises. She grabbed the young woman’s arm and pulled up her sleeve, brandishing the pale skin. Hard finger lines lingered. “And here. Look, my lord. And there’s more—my lord, do not make me show you. Please, we tell the truth.” 

Guan Jinyue folded his fan and sighed. 

“The lady hasn’t taken a proper breath since we met,” he said. “You don’t have to convince me.”

The old woman bowed her head, her silvering hair falling in loose strands from a tired bun. 

“Laomeng knows these trivial matters are not for House Guan, my lord, but we’ve gone to the Provincial Council and they turned us away. The Council says the man is not of Guilin, so they can’t touch him. But my daughter will have these scars for the rest of her life. He is a vile pig—no, a—a—”

“A lump of dog shit,” supplied Jinyue. 

The woman, who referred to herself as Laomeng, clapped the ground and pressed her head to the wood. 

“My lord, my lord, please—Laomeng asks for justice. If that man doesn’t have another finger to lay on a woman, we could be satisfied. But anything you can do, any time you can spare…”

Jinyue beckoned a hand. A moment later, a young attendant knelt at his side. He said to the girl, “See if the doctor can free up an hour for this young woman.” 

The attendant nodded and left. 

Alone with the two women, Jinyue said, “The matter is not trivial for House Guan. Your protection is our responsibility. Now, you say that this man is a cousin?” 

The older woman, having clasped her hands in flustered gratitude, nodded intensely. “A distant cousin. He hasn’t been in Guilin for decades. His family left after the Four Unions. But with the outside war being what it is, he’s claimed his old ties again.” 

“Yet his citizenship is...?”

“In Anzhou. I believe he plans to return when the war is done.” 

Jinyue tapped the edge of his fan to his chin. No wonder the Council refused to intervene in even a case as damning as rape. Guilin was a tiny, autonomous province, far outsized by the sprawling nation-state of Anzhou. The Guilin Provincial Council was a political entity presided by privileged old folk and played their cards cautiously, like pampered mice. But House Guan’s only obligation was to the wellbeing of Guilin and its people. 

“Where is he staying now?”

“With my sister’s family, in Beicheng.”

“I’ll have our doctor take care of your daughter. We’ll leave afterward for Beicheng and bring the man back here. He’ll have a hearing, of course. And he’ll be given the judgment of the First Lord.”

“My lord! Laomeng cannot thank you enough.”

“There is no need, Mrs. Meng,” said Jinyue, standing. “It’s a matter of duty.”

He saw the two women through the Guan estate to their shaman-doctor, who had cleared her ward for them at the message of his attendant. On his way out, a shadow in his peripheral caught his attention. He faced the corridor. A small figure popped out from behind a hall pillar, wearing a lazily tied shirt and a wide, toothy grin—Guan Wenbo, the youngest of the four Guan siblings, and nearly the wildest. Her cropped hair had clearly not been brushed since she got out of bed, and a smear of chocolate dotted the corner of her lips. Frowning, Jinyue wondered how her breakfast crumbs had migrated to the top of her head. 

“Why aren’t you at school today, Bobo?” 

“I’m sick,” said the ten year old, bright-eyed as ever.

“Then why aren’t you resting?”

“I’m not  _ that  _ sick.” 

“If you’re well enough to be tailing me, you’re well enough to be sitting in a classroom.” 

Little Wenbo made a face, the corner of her mouth curling. “An-Ge said I don’t have to go today. Else I’ll get everyone else sick, you know?” Suddenly, she hopped over to Jinyue’s side and tugged at his hand, her earlier retorts replaced with excitement. “But I’m better now. Look, Jin-Ge! Touch my head. See?”

The girl was indeed coming off the high of a quick fever. Jinyue sighed at little Wenbo’s reins-free enthusiasm and started walking toward his chambers. 

“Can I come with you to Beicheng?”

“No.”

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s a long trip and you’ve got work to do.” 

“I don’t.”

“You do. You’re going to transcribe the next chapter of  _ Modern Era  _ and practice your zither.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Jinyue paused and peered at his little sister. With the corner of his sleeve, he wiped the chocolate smear from her face. “If you want to go to Beicheng, I’ll take you this weekend. But only if you can play me a clean  _ Origins _ .”

The girl didn’t look pleased, but she sauntered off nonetheless. Jinyue imagined she had plans to procrastinate for several hours. Fortunately, the other children of the house were at school, which meant his sister had limited company to stall with. He could only hope the adults wouldn’t indulge her.  

Twenty minutes later, Jinyue returned to the wards where he found the elderly Mrs. Meng waiting. They left her daughter under the care of the Guan family doctor. Jinyue’s attendant had already prepared the horsewagon at the estate entrance, a simple darkwood vehicle led by a cinnamon mare.

The attendant drove. They followed the valley paths north, out of the central Rizhai town and surrounding village cluster. Late summer, the landscape was rich with vivid greens, the lakes and rivers their famed turquoise blue. Come autumn, a hundred colors would paint the banks and forests, the ethereal image of old heaven. Since the great wars of the Modern Era, few places in the world retained their untarnished natural beauty. The isolation of the Guilin valley, the self-sustaining ecology, the historical reverence of its beauty—these had all preserved it through the centuries of nuclear ash. Even now, seven hundred years after the world’s return to simpler time, Guilin alone held on to its innocence. No exorbitant electric luxuries, no indulgence in the cybernetic advancements of its surrounding states, no god-seeking science remaking nature. None except within the hidden chambers of the Guardian House of Guan, who sacrificed even their humanity for the protection of this vulnerable, sacred place.

It was not a large province. Guilin consisted only of three towns, and the leisurely ride from the central town to the northern Beicheng took a little under two hours. The people of Beicheng recognized the driving attendant’s pure white garments underlined with deep black and vivid maroon; though not a Guan by blood, the attendant was a member of the household and so bore their colors. An intentional practice: House Guan, after all, was not some vague and ghostly entity, but a symbol and a pillar for the people of Guilin. They dressed to be known. 

The townspeople stared and whispered in curious delight. When Jinyue exited the horsewagon, several recognized him as well. A few bowed with a respectful  _ Master Guan  _ as he passed, following Mrs. Meng up the stairs of a wooden two-story building. At the door on the second floor, she knocked. 

The door creaked open moments later, revealing the haggard face of another woman. This woman flitted sunken eyes between Mrs. Meng and Jinyue, then stiffly pulled the door further back and moved aside. With a sigh, she said, “Second door back.” 

Mrs. Meng looked at Jinyue. Jinyue thanked their haggard host and found the second door back. With his attendant and Mrs. Meng at his back, he knocked.

“Excuse me. Mr…” 

“Chang,” whispered Mrs. Meng. “Chang Dazhe.”

“Mr. Chang,” said Jinyue. “May we come in?”

Heavy footsteps. The door swung open. A man with short hair, a graphic shirt, and sweatpants appeared behind the frame. None of these three things were common in Guilin, whose men wore their hair bald or long, whose fashion was elegant, flowing, and simple. The man stopped in the midst of scratching his nose to glower at Jinyue. 

“What do you…” 

His eyes widened, spotting the elderly woman at Jinyue’s side. Then they narrowed, and he scoffed.

“What do you want?” 

“My name is Guan Jinyue, of the Guardian House of Guilin. Mrs. Meng came to us this morning with her daughter, whom they say you assaulted. I must admit, the wounds looked quite severe, and that’s not yet speaking of the young lady’s mental state. The matter must be addressed, so I have to ask you to return to House Guan with me.” 

The man shook his head and crossed his arms. “I didn’t touch her.”

“You lying dog—”

Jinyue placed a hand on the furious Mrs. Meng and spoke to Chang. “That will be for the First Lord of House Guan to judge.”

“That’s ridiculous. Get your police if you want to put me on trial. Get a fucking warrant. Who are you to order me around?” 

In a smooth motion, Jinyue drew the curved sword at his hip. Before Chang could so much as stagger, the steel tip hovered a hair’s breadth below his chin. 

“My name is Guan Jinyue,” he repeated, “of the Guardian House of Guilin. You have been accused of raping a woman of Guilin. So you will come with me.”

“This is illegal,” said the man.

“Which law do you cite?” 

The man balked. “This is fucking illegal.” 

“Do we have to restrain you and carry you back, Mr. Chang?”

The man glanced at Jinyue’s weapon. Cursing, he went. 

They ended up restraining the man anyway, after he attempted to run once they left the building. While the attendant watched him in the wagon, Mrs. Meng brought Jinyue to their village house where the assault occurred. Jinyue took a quick survey of the shed, noting the strewn hay and the sprawled tools, the specks of blood and torn hair strands. As predisposed as he was to believe an injured, trembling girl of his province, the justice for rape was severe and he dared not supply it without evidence. Satisfied for now, he returned the group to the Guan estate. 

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived. Jinyue secured the accused Chang in a private room and brought Mrs. Meng to her daughter in the medical wards. The shaman doctor Sanhai was tending to another visitor at the moment. After the treated man left, Jinyue approached her.

“How is the girl?”

“She’ll recover from the injuries. It’s always harder to say with the psychological damage.” 

Jinyue nodded. “And my brother?”  

“At the college.”

“No, I meant—”

“Anjie’s at the college,” said the doctor Sanhai, raising an elegant eyebrow. “Fixing your little brother’s problems, again.” The corner of her lips curved faintly. “We’re lucky Wenzhan picked these past few peaceful years to throw his fits. Else I doubt Anjie would have had enough spare energy to deal with the invasions.”

“What did he do this time?”

“I don’t know. Anjie didn’t look happy.”

Jinyue sighed and rubbed his brow. “I’ll try to speak with him later.” 

Later did not come for quite a while. It was evening by the time Anjie returned, and their younger brother still hadn’t appeared. With suppertime coinciding, the visiting women and detained men were fed before the hearing. Jinyue briefed Anjie on their case over a quick meal. Afterward, they convened in the central hall.

The hall was a ceremonially decorated place with new mahogany pillars and intricate framework. Traditional calligraphy hung in a large scroll across the northern rear wall:  _ The mountains in our bones; the rivers in our veins; the earth in our hearts; the heavens in our souls.  _ Despite the space that could easily hold the hundred members of the Guan household, only seven were in attendance tonight. The two women sat with the doctor Sanhai on the mat between the eastern pillars of the room, and Jinyue accompanied the detained man in the southern center. The place between the western pillars was reserved for the primary branch of the household, the Guan descendants, always held witness to the judgments of the First Lord. Right now, only two people occupied that space—Jinyue’s mute aunt, reading a book without a care for the rest of the room, and little Wenbo, picking at the corner of the sitting mat. Jinyue frowned pointedly at his sister until she finally glanced up and grinned at him, guiltily hiding her hands. 

Beside Jinyue, the detained man was hunched. Perhaps worn by the day or daunted by the mood of the hall. The young woman was stiff in the presence of her assaulter, and her mother only held her hand in grim silence. The others in the room were accustomed to waiting, and so they waited. 

Not for long. The shadows of the northwest archway flickered. The First Lord of House Guan entered the hall. Behind him came his righthand: a handsome and willowed beauty by the name Mu Ziyuan, who presented as neither man nor woman. With a graceful sweep of his crane white robes, Guan Anjie took his place beneath the the calligraphy script, between the characters  _ vein  _ and  _ heart. _ His unmarred fingers rested calmly over the knees of his crossed legs, his rich hair spilling free down the straight line of his back. His unearthly metallic eyes swept the hall.

If the visitors were quiet before his entrance, a deathly stillness covered them now. Jinyue did not blame them; his eldest brother, particularly when he presented as the First Lord, was a striking presence. Perhaps even more so for the women, who knew the Guilin history and the stories of the Red Crane. But even the foreign Chang Dazhe hunched a little further. After all, it did not take stories to see that daunting beauty, to feel that oppressive, ethereal dominance. 

Between the west pillars, their mute aunt closed her book. Little Wenbo sat up straighter. 

Anjie’s gaze hesitated over their mat. It was a brief linger, returning to the full hall a second later. 

“My brother has summarized matters for me, so there is no need for the preliminaries. I will hear Lady Yin and Chang Dazhe speak. Lady Yin?”

The elderly Mrs. Meng helped her daughter to the center of the hall. The young woman was no longer wearing her shawl, and any calm she had reclaimed throughout the day seemed to evaporate as she knelt with the accused Chang Dazhe at her back. Her shoulders began to tremble. 

Her mother grasped her hand and bowed at Anjie. “My lord, please, let me speak on her behalf. My daughter has suffered—”

Anjie held up a hand. Mrs. Meng fell silent. 

“Your daughter is the one he wronged, Madame Meng. The story is hers to tell.” He looked at the trembling Lady Yin. “My lady, I will not lift a hand against this man without your words.” 

The trembling intensified. Mrs. Meng rubbed her daughter’s back, whispering encouragement. Jinyue looked at his brother, his expression unmoved by the pressure he exerted on this battered young woman. Yet it could not be helped: only if the victim spoke could House Guan determine the final truth of the matter. Jinyue swallowed, holding his tongue through the girl’s silence. 

After a long pause, Anjie spoke with hint of softness.

“My lady, whatever the man may have taken from you, he did not take your voice as well.” 

The fabric of the young woman’s shirt stretched over her shoulders. With a sharp shudder, she inhaled. 

Her first words were barely audible.

“I was in the garden last night.” 

They listened. The accused Chang Dazhe only stiffened and swallowed, his hands occasionally clutching white at parts of her unsteady recounting. Between the west pillars, little Wenbo began to sniff quietly. After the young lady Yin had finished in tears, Anjie glanced downcast to his right, waiting for the flawless perceptions of his righthand. Behind him, the righthand Mu Ziyuan nodded once.

Anjie turned toward the east pillars. “Doctor?”

The doctor Sanhai moved a few paces into the center and knelt. “Her injuries were consistent with everything she said. The bruising in particular—” She paused, glancing westward. They all did. A tall, broad figure had entered the hall, shirt loosely tucked and outer garment skewd. A bruise on his lower lip, a mess in his rebellious short hair. Guan Wenzhan, the third Guan brother. He sat between the west pillars next to his little sister, refusing to look at anyone except the guests. Sanhai cleared her throat and continued. “The bruising in particular suggests the young lady was forcibly held down.” 

“Thank you,” said Anjie. “Madame Meng, Lady Yin, you may return to your seats.” 

The women did just that. In the meantime, Jinyue eyed his little brother. At twenty, Guan Wenzhan wasn’t so little anymore. But he certainly felt like it, in the worst possible way. Even at this distance, Jinyue’s enhanced senses picked up the alcohol. 

Wenzhan’s eyes flickered to Jinyue. They stayed for a brief moment before falling to the ground. 

Jinyue sighed. He was nearly surprised when the accused Chang Dazhe trudged forward from his side. He hadn’t been paying attention when Anjie had asked the man to come forward. 

Chang Dazhe walked to the center and stayed standing. Shoulders spread, chin lifted, he looked down at the seated Lord Guan. 

“You can play at lordling all you want, but this is pointless.” 

“Do you deny the lady’s words?”

“I wasn’t the one who did it.” 

“He’s lying!” said Madame Meng. 

Anjie held up a hand for the elderly woman again. To the accused Chang Dazhe, “You did not do what?”

“I didn’t rape her,” said Chang Dazhe.

Anjie looked toward his right, a wordless question. Behind him, the righthand Ziyuan’s clear copper eyes bore into the standing man. After a moment, Ziyuan said, “Lie.” 

“It isn’t. I wasn’t even in the village last night.”

“Lie,” said Ziyuan. 

“You can ask my cousin! Shit, I’ve got a woman, a real woman. Why the fuck would I want to touch a little rabbit like this one here?”

“Lie,” said Ziyuan.

The man snarled. “Fuck you. I’m not lying. I didn’t do it. And you’ve got no proof that I did, just the words of a few crying women and a—whatever the hell that one is.”

Before the man’s mouth had shut, Anjie had stood. Level, he stared down the man with cold eyes.

The accused Chang Dazhe took a step back. Jinyue could smell the fear on him. 

“This—this is illegal—you’ll hang—”  

Their eyes did not follow the speed of the next motion. Jinyue only blinked, and then Anjie’s sheathed sword was in his hand, knocking clean into Chang Dazhe’s legs. With a graceless cry, Chang Dazhe fell to his knees.

The sheathed sword returned to its proper place. The Lord Guan spoke down at the shocked man. 

“You breathe the air of Guilin. Here I need neither proof nor law to pass judgment.”

Anjie’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Chang Dazhe. The people of Guilin are not yours to touch.” 

The blade glinted briefly under the hall’s warm light. It sank back into its sheath as quickly as it was drawn. A moment of silence passed. It appeared that Chang Dazhe was oblivious to what had happened until he suddenly screamed, clutching at his crotch. Blood seeped slowly through his sweatpants. 

Anjie turned to the doctor Sanhai. “If you don’t mind, Doctor.”

Sanhai inclined her head and went to lug the screaming, flailing man out of the room. She’d give him the emergency treatment, and then he would be cockless. Of course, once the man returned to Anzhou, he could buy the procedure to regrow the lost appendage. If he had the money for it.

To the women, Anjie said while the man was still in the room, “If he has not left Guilin by the morning, I will see him out personally.”

“Th-thank you, my lord. Thank you so much.”

“It is late. You may stay the night. I will have someone escort you home tomorrow.”

His righthand Ziyuan appeared at his side and bowed at the women. “I’ll show you to your rooms.” 

A few more flustered thanks fell from their lips, tears from the young woman’s eyes, and then they left with Ziyuan. Anjie turned to face the remaining Guan family members. He paused for a moment, waiting for any response to what had just transpired. Tonight they were quiet, for despite the harsh maiming of the rapist, Ziyuan’s eyes caught all truths, and rape was intolerable in the Guan family halls. In their silence, Anjie said, “Get some rest.”

Aunt Baisun smiled, picked up her book, and left. Little Wenbo lingered. Jinyue went to collect his sister. But when his brother Wenzhan turned to go, Anjie spoke up again.

“Not you.” 

Wenzhan paused. Sensing what was coming, Jinyue tugged little Wenbo out of the south exit. 

The exit opened to a corridor, and the corridor opened to their main courtyard. Jinyue managed to pull little Wenbo into the courtyard before the girl stopped walking. He looked back at her, a faint pout and a frown etched into her expression, and then he relented to their curiosities. He pointed at the walkway of the courtyard, just beyond the corridor and the central hall. 

“Over there. Sit.” 

Little Wenbo beamed at him and hopped over silently. Jinyue followed, planting himself over the wooden rise of the walkway. He leaned against a nearby pillar and pursed his lips as Wenbo ignored his last word and wandered to the edge of the corridor entrance, clearly eavesdropping. 

Jinyue could pick up a faint undercurrent of tone from where he sat, though not the words. It was easy to tell who was speaking. His older brother’s voice was soft, patient even when his younger brother was at his most trying. His younger brother’s voice was rough, curt, occasionally a growling mumble. He had been this way for years—nothing like the transparent, clingy boy that used to follow Anjie wherever he went and cry when Jinyue was mad at him. Lately, his delinquency and misbehavior had been getting worse. His cutting words would lash out even at Anjie every so often. Actually, in particularly at Anjie.  

Jinyue had a faint idea of what was wrong. It hurt his heart to think about it, so he promised he would not pry unless his younger brother came to him. 

It was not long before hard, rushed footsteps built toward the exit. His younger brother walked past them without a glance, wearing a rigid look on his face. 

“Wenzhan!”  

He didn’t turn around at Jinyue’s call. Just disappeared out of the courtyard. 

A moment later, Anjie emerged as well. 

“An-Ge?” said little Wenbo. “What’s wrong with Wen-Ge?”

Anjie shook his head. “I think he’s rather sick of speaking with me. Ah-Yue, will you look after him? He’s not in a good place right now.”

Jinyue nodded. 

Anjie held out a hand to little Wenbo. “Ah-Bo, let’s go. It’s bedtime.”   

Their sister took Anjie’s hand and clung to his side, small hands digging into his robes and shoulders secure under a gentle touch. An image flashed through Jinyue’s memory of a younger Wenzhan doing the same. With a hidden sigh, Jinyue watched his siblings disappear around the corridor, then hurried to catch up with his tumultuous brother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: As with many East Asian cultures, honorifics are a big deal in Chinese address. Here you see the Guan siblings referring to each other as Ah-syllable and syllable-Ge. Ah- is used with younger/intimate friends and family, similar to when we shorten English names into nicknames. -Ge means older brother, often attached to names as it can be considered disrespectful to address an older sibling without an honorific. Another common Chinese nickname convention is doubling the last syllable of the given name, as we see with Wenbo being call Bobo.


	4. The House of Guardians | 2

Past dusk, the fields of Guilinhe village were empty and the solar energy collected throughout the day was humming in dim, warm lights along the wooden street posts. Wenzhan ignored the balking bows of the few passing villagers and wandered to the far southern corner of the village. There, he slammed the counter of a tiny outlet shop. Orange lanterns swung below the worn shop canopy, loosening floating dust in the enhanced sharpness of his peripheral vision. Past the counter, a large shadow shifted behind the rows of stock.

“Yeah, comin’,” said the shopkeeper, grunting as he stumbled over a sack of rice. A moment later, he spotted Wenzhan and straightened his casual slouch. “Master Guan! What can I—”

Wenzhan slapped four large coins onto the countertop. “Tiange, cold.” 

“Cold, yeah, right away…”

The shopkeeper disappeared into the backroom of the outlet. A few moments later, he reappeared with a round bottle of strong liquor, the glass perspiring from its storage in the cool undercellar. That pleased look on the man’s gruff face stuttered as he saw Wenzhan’s expression. Or maybe it was when he smelled the alcohol already on Wenzhan’s breath. Wenzhan grunted a curt thanks and then plopped down on the mud steps of the shop, tossing the cork and tossing a long draft down his throat. The liquid burned, immediately easing that hideous feeling in his gut. 

He had hit Anjie. He had hit Anjie, of all people—for nothing more than gently grasping his shoulder and trying to calm him down. For not even raising his gentle voice when he pressed on why Wenzhan had skipped the college lectures for the dozenth time. He’d knocked his brother’s hand off like it was a vile thing, and that soft hurt in his brother’s eyes cut Wenzhan to the bone. But how could he say that it wasn’t Anjie, it was Wenzhan who was the vile one? That Anjie shouldn’t sully his beautiful hands on his wretched little brother. 

He tossed another draft back. Eventually, another. Dazed, he knocked his head against the shop pillar. Once. Twice. Thrice—

And hit something soft.

Wenzhan looked up. His second brother Jinyue stood over him, his palm protecting Wenzhan’s skull from the hard wooden pillar. Wenzhan must be terribly inebriated, an exacerbation of his state from earlier in the evening, to not have noticed someone come up right next to him.  

He looked down quickly. The image of perfect, flawless Jinyue, down to the precision of his braided hair with not even a strand out of place, was hard to bear. Wenzhan was painfully aware of his own shorn hair, his skewed clothes. But he couldn’t hold anything against his brother, who quietly sat down at his side and took the liquor bottle from his hands.

“Jin—” 

Jinyue lifted the bottle to his own lips and drank. A line trickled from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his clean white sleeves. The liquor was tinted yellow, and so his crane white was tainted yellow. Afterward, he handed the bottle back to Wenzhan. 

“It isn’t wise to drink alone.”

Wenzhan didn’t say anything. 

Jinyue placed a gentle hand on Wenzhan’s shoulder, as Anjie had done. And yet, it felt nothing like Anjie’s touch. It didn’t scald. It didn’t strike the urge to run away. 

“I won’t ask what’s wrong. But Wenzhan, you don’t have to fight it alone.” 

Wenzhan shook his head. He drank.

“I do,” he whispered. “I really fucking do.” 

The hand on his shoulder tightened. “Look at me, Wenzhan. Look. I’m sure Anjie would say the same, but he isn’t here now, so I’ll say it.” He gripped Wenzhan’s hand, his earthen eyes firm. “I am your brother. I don’t care what it is. I don’t care why. If you need me, I’m here for you.”

His throat dried. Lungs filled. Wenzhan tore away and buried his face in his hands, the liquor spilling on the ground, his nails digging into his scalp.

“You don’t know,” he said, voice breaking. “You have no idea.” 

“I know my little brother,” said Jinyue. “I know how much he treasures our big brother. And I know he would never treat Anjie like this without good reason.” Jinyue tilted his head forward, touching Wenzhan’s shoulder again. Softly, he said, “Wenzhan, if you want me to know, I will say that it’s not your fault. If you don’t want me to know, I will say as I have been saying. I will always be on your side.”

Wenzhan broke into tears—ugly, choked tears. Through the heavy inebriation swirled a horror that Jinyue’s sincerity was a thorough one—that he  _ knew _ . And the horror slowly nudged a weight off his back. He let his brother pull his larger form against those prim white robes. He buried his eyes over his brother’s shoulders, soaking the layers through. 

Come morning, he was going to regret this weakness. Wenzhan had not cried on his brothers’ shoulders since their parents passed. He had taken painstaking care, especially in the last few years, to recraft who he was among the Guan siblings. Not the vulnerable third. But for now, he felt ten, comforted in the kind embrace of his stronger brothers.

“Don’t tell him,” he whispered. “Please don’t tell him.” 

Jinyue stroked his shorn hair and hushed him. “It is not my place.”

“He’ll hate me.”

“He would never.”

“He’ll hate me.”

“He loves you.”  

Wenzhan sobbed. They sat like that for long time. Eventually, speaking. Of what, Wenzhan was not sure, because his voice came out in slurs and mumbles and his ears took words in warped cuts. He vaguely felt the dirt road beneath his feet, the rich evening breeze of the valley forest. The white sleeves in his clutch. Everything else, came morning, slipped from his memory. 

 

* * *

Dawn light filtered through the sheer curtains of the master bedchamber, casting a warm hue to Anjie’s sleeping profile. It was not that Anjie had a cold aura, but asleep, he was more like the spring river than the summer hearth. He’d moved a little in his sleep, loose hair sprawling over the pillows. Smiling mischievously, little Wenbo pinched two loose locks between her fingers and carefully folded the strands beneath his nose, making a terrible moustache. The strands pricked his smooth skin. His brow drew in a faint wince, and a small noise escaped his lips. His fingers stretched forward. “Mu…” 

His eyes flickered open. 

Wenbo giggled, dropping the fake moustache. 

As if surprised to see her, Anjie blinked. A pause later, he smiled softly.

“Ah-Bo. What are you doing?” 

“Making you a mustache. Are you awake?”

“I’m awake.” 

Wenbo hopped off the bed and tugged down his covers. “Can we play?” 

Anjie pushed upright, rubbing his eyes. “What do you want to play?”

“Cranes!”    

He laughed, a sound still tinged with sleep. “Go and get changed. I’ll meet you in the training hall.” 

Making a gleeful noise, Wenbo ran back to her own room and dove into her wardrobe, tossing aside wrinkled clothes until she found her light black garments. The training halls were in the east wing of the estate, and at the dawn hour, the ring of rooms were heavily occupied by the habitual morning exercises.  _ The  _ training hall, the one Anjie meant, was located in the far east center, a polished room reserved for the First Lord alone. In terms of decor, it was sparse. A single painting draped down the back wall, a red-crowned crane arched in a proud stance. Wenbo plopped down in front of the painting while she waited for her brother, her eyes tracing the elegant lines of that magnificent form. 

Wenbo had seen the crane on the backs of her two older brothers. She was seven when they inked it into her second brother Jinyue. Many other warriors of the house wore it as well, and at least a dozen had gotten theirs within Wenbo’s memory. Feng Sueyi, an older crane with the same light copper eyes as Anjie and his righthand, once said that the new cranes were fake cranes, that they hadn’t earned the ink—that one only needed to look at their human eyes to know they were imposters of the sacred bird. Wenbo remembered that moment vividly: they had been holding evening practice, and Jinyue was helping Wenbo with her lunges. Her second brother had never looked as pained as when those words drifted over. 

Wenbo mentioned the incident to Anjie later. The next day, Anjie took Feng Sueyi to the Guan ancestral hall, where they burned incense for the deceased. They were in there alone for a long time. When Feng Sueyi walked out, his chiseled face was stark, and he prostrated himself in front of Jinyue, begging forgiveness. Nobody ever talked about fake cranes after that.

Wenbo didn’t understand it all. She just knew that the crane was a special mark, that it made a person a true guardian of Guilin. That it took no more and no less than Anjie’s approval to be bestowed the image, and that if she had her eldest brother’s approval, she had nothing in the world to fear. 

“Just you wait,” she said to the lofty bird. “I’ll catch you soon enough.” 

The crane only stared with its proud, untouchable eyes.

Soon, soft footsteps approached. Beaming, Wenbo turned around. Her brother arrived in black training garments, his hair braided neatly down his back. He held out a large flask, which slushed with liquid. 

“Did you remember to drink, Ah-Bo?” 

She took the flask and downed the water. Together, they stretched and warmed-up. This was the part that Wenbo grimaced over, impatient as she was to get started. But Anjie insisted on the little things and took his time enjoying the slow pace. In the background, the courtyard birds chirped and the stir of morning training thrummed. By the time they finally took the wooden swords off the racks, Wenbo was jittery with excitement. 

‘Cranes’ was not so much a game as it was hard sparring. Anjie went easy on her, of course—Wenbo would not be learning much otherwise. Still, she was thrilled at every tiny success, every hard clack of wood. These days, Anjie rarely sparred seriously with anyone other than his righthand Ziyuan. In fact, he rarely sparred at all with anyone aside from Ziyuan, Jinyue, and Wenbo. He seemed happy to oblige requests, but the requests were few. Several months ago, a young crane had wistfully mentioned how he would love to try his skills against the First Lord. When Wenbo, eavesdropping, chirped  _ why not ask? _ , the man had broken into a laugh.

_ Sorry, milady, but I’m not his sister, _ he said.  _ He doesn’t have the time to baby me.  _

It appeared to Wenbo that the general consensus was that her brother would be ‘babying’ anyone who challenged him. How foolish. After all, she thought, if they didn’t grow out of being babies, with or without her brother’s help, then was Anjie supposed to be the only adult in the house?

At least there was Ziyuan. And Jinyue. Wenzhan, on the other hand… Her third brother preferred stabbing trees in the valley forest to proper exercises in the estate. The last time she saw Wenzhan spar was about a year ago, against Jinyue. Totally wild and formless. Her third brother had lost, but he broke Jinyue’s sword  _ and  _ the nearby weapons rack in the process. 

In the end, Wenbo was not able to land a single blow on Anjie. Collapsing onto the floor, she said, “One day, I’ll win.” 

Anjie stared at her as if surprised. After a moment, he broke into a happy laugh. 

“Of course you will. You’re the fiercest little lady I know.” 

“But,” said Wenbo, pushing upright, “you don’t actually know too many fierce little ladies, do you? I think it’s just me and Ruo-Jie. And Lulu, but she’s not little at all.”

Anjie smiled and knelt, fixing her mussed hair. “You’re right. The fiercest person, then.” 

Wenbo beamed, a satisfied warmth filling her chest. Anjie placed a hand on her cheek, speaking softly. 

“Keep that ferocity, little crane. I’ll be waiting for the day.”

They tidied and had breakfast in the private tea room afterward. Dinner was a family affair, and lunch was taken at everyone’s own convenience. Breakfast met somewhere in the middle, usually attended together by Anjie, Ziyuan, Jinyue, and Wenbo. Aunt Baisun slept in too late to join, and Wenzhan came or didn’t at his own whim. Today was a no for Wenbo’s third brother. Jinyue arrived later than usual, catching the tail end of Anjie and Wenbo’s dining. Her two brothers talked briefly about affairs to be taken care of during the day, and then Anjie sent her to change into her school clothes. 

In the Guan household, there were four children of primary school age, Wenbo included. Two had already gone ahead, but cousin Ruotian lingered behind to wait for Wenbo. Wenbo found the older girl sitting in the main courtyard, a book opened in her right hand, her back straight and her hair braided in elegant plaits. As cousin Ruotian sighted Wenbo, her left eyebrow arched smoothly and her mouth opened to comment. Before the words left her lips, her eyes darted past Wenbo. 

Cousin Ruotian stood up quickly. “An-Gege.”

“Ah-Tian. Are you ready to go?”

“You’re coming with us today, An-Gege?” 

“I have some business in town, so I’ll walk you.” 

Cousin Ruotian’s lips pulled into a smile. Wenbo could see the corners pursing, trying to stay prim and ladylike. But the older girl’s eyes brightened and flickered to Wenbo, clearly delighted to have her brother’s company.

It was a half-hour walk from the Guan estate in Guilinhe village to the primary school in the Rizhai town. On the way, the Guilinhe villagers smiled and waved at the trio. One man working the morning fields hurried over to press a bundle of fresh vegetables into Anjie’s hands, the farmer’s tanned skin already sweat-sheened and his nails stained with dirt. In the market area of the Rizhai town, an old woman waved down the two girls and gave them each a large, hot doughnut. Wenbo wolfed hers down while cousin Ruotian, a few minutes later, passed her doughnut to a small townboy. 

When they arrived at the school, the children crowded the windows and doors to see the First Lord Guan. After Anjie left and cousin Ruotian joined her own class, Wenbo’s classmates surrounded her in a flurry, asking after her absence yesterday. She happily basked in the attention, spinning a wild exaggeration of her morning illness the day before. 

Later in the day, the teacher announced that they were beginning an autumn project on family. He handed out their notebooks and then instructed the students to write a paragraph on their concept of family. His instructions hung with an ambiguous silence afterward, his fan folding behind his straight back and his eyes sweeping the room with a quiet expectation.  

Wenbo pressed the end of her pen to her lip, thinking. After a moment, she smiled and dipped the tip into the soft parchment. 

_ Family _ , she wrote,  _ is the people you share your food with _ .

 

* * *

 

“Wenzhan. Zhanzhan. Hey, Wen-Gege.”

Wenzhan winced, slowly feeling the ache of his neck, the throb behind his eyes. Soft fingers touched his exposed forearm, and a familiar breath ghosted his ears with the scent of peonies. “Wen-Gege, if you don’t wake up, I’m going to take your belt.” 

He swat his arm at the voice. The warmth at his side peddled back. With a grunt, he lifted his head where it rested on his arm, and his arm prickled with the numbness of being pressed to the desk. Leaning back in his chair, he blinked to an empty lecture room and the afternoon light burning the edge of a metallic table.

Sighing, he rubbed his face. 

“Shame. I did kind of want your belt.” 

The woman next to him pulled over a chair and sank into it, facing him. Wenzhan gave her a sideway glance, irritated at her all-too-pleasant voice.

Lin Suzha. A year under him, a transfer to the Guilin provincial college since last winter. The only person at the college with the nerve to rouse him from his napping. It was not a justified nerve in the moment, when Wenzhan was still off-kilter from the morning hangover and a half-nudge from snapping at any company. He didn’t remember all of last night. Just the part where he hit Anjie. Just the part where he sobbed over Jinyue’s nice white robes and more or less admitted to his second brother’s suspicions. 

Wenzhan really did not want to speak with anyone for the next month. 

“You got water?” he said. 

“Sure,” said Suzha. She tugged over a decorated bag on the desk and fished out a flask, which she tossed to Wenzhan. He downed all of the water, which was not enough to clean his mood. Suzha said, “Something happened this morning?”

He stood, swinging his bag over his shoulder. “No.” 

“Yesterday, then.” 

“Doesn’t matter.”

Suzha followed him out of the lecture room. The college was winding down at the late afternoon hour, the corridors sparse. Even so, the few that glimpsed him averted their gaze. Once, they did that out of respect for his status as a lordling of House Guan. These days, it was just nervous distaste. 

“It matters to me,” said Suzha. “Hey, Wenzhan. Wenzhan!” 

“I’m going home.” 

Her hand wrapped around his wrist. He didn’t resist as she maneuvered him against the wall. As she was about to speak, a student drifted past them. She seemed to think better of making a visible scene and soon pulled him into the adjacent empty classroom. The door shut with a heavy draft. 

Wenzhan slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. Suzha watched him for a hanging moment, her earlier humor and ease gone. Perhaps it was the eastside dim of the classroom. Or perhaps it was because they hadn’t talked properly in days. 

“I heard from Luxian,” she said eventually. “Well, ‘heard’ is putting it lightly.”  

Wenzhan cocked an eyebrow. “What, you don’t like it?”

Suzha scoffed and shook her head at him. They glared at each other. 

Then she closed the distance in two strides. Her fingers wrapped around the fabric of his broad shoulders, and her mouth covered his. She tasted like summer plums. Instinctively, Wenzhan shut his eyes and kissed back.  

A moment later, Suzha pulled away. She hissed over his lips. 

“Stupid boy. I don’t care who you fuck. But she has a boyfriend. What the hell were you thinking?” 

“I wasn’t.”

“You weren’t thinking? You fucked someone’s girlfriend without thinking?”

“I didn’t know.” 

Suzha groaned in exasperation, stepping backward and pressing a hand to her forehead. Narrowing her eyes at him, she said, “Luxian’s been waiting for you outside. What are you going to do?”

Wenzhan shrugged. “Talk. Fight. Whatever he wants.” 

“I think you know what he wants.” 

“Shouldn’t keep him waiting, then.” 

Suzha grabbed Wenzhan’s arm as he made to leave. 

“Wenzhan. Don’t do anything stupid. You know you’re the one in the wrong here.” 

He had nothing to say to that. Suzha was right, and for all his crass behavior, Wenzhan had been raised well to know right from wrong, wise from stupid. But some things he could not control, some wrongs he could not escape, and he had decided years ago that if it was going to be this way, he’d let it be this way. Right? Wise? Fucking someone’s girlfriend, fighting someone’s boyfriend? What were those small transgressions anyway, but an outlet for the steam of a much greater one?  

He pulled his arm from Suzha’s grip. She had no place to chastise him.

Without another word, he left the room. Suzha sighed and followed. 

As she had warned, Luxian was waiting in the empty open corridor beyond the building exit. He was alone, a brawny man matching Wenzhan in size. When Wenzhan appeared, Luxian pushed off the pillar he leaned against and leveled a cold, hard look. They stood opposite each other for a silent moment. 

“You wanted to talk?” said Wenzhan. 

A pulse rippled through Luxian’s jaws. “Talk?” 

“Better for you,” said Wenzhan.

“Better for me?” A humorless chuckle shook Luxian’s form. “You think that you can take whatever you want, say whatever you want,  _ fuck  _ whoever you want because you’re a Guan?”

“I fuck whoever wants me to fuck them.” 

“Guan Wenzhan!” 

“Luxian, is it?” 

The man snarled. Took three wide strides forward, a fist curling. The hit landed empty, and with a grunt, Luxian went stumbling back from a languid kick. 

“You sure you want to fight?” 

Suzha touched Wenzhan’s shoulder. Frantically, “Wenzhan—” 

Luxian roared. Wenzhan shoved Suzha out of the way. For all his skill and trained build, Luxian was but a stick of wood compared to the modified warriors of House Guan. Wenzhan may not have endured the traditional final procedure—and never would, now that Anjie was First Lord—but he had been recrafted in other ways since birth. He retaliated the assault in reserved motions, knocking the other man carefully back and withholding his strength for a short time.

Then Luxian said, “Guan? The Guardian House? Don’t fuck with me, Wenzhan. You’re a shame to that name.” 

A blow landed on Wenzhan’s cheek. He stumbled back, spitting blood onto the ground. After a stunned moment, he felt a laugh crawl up his throat. 

“You’re right. Guan? Yeah. Don’t fuck with me. I never wanted to be one.”  

Luxian threw a fierce kick. With ease, Wenzhan grabbed his leg and sent him toppling back. The man sprawled on the ground with a grunt. Suzha hurried to Luxian’s side and knelt. 

“That’s enough,” she said. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

Wenzhan was turning to leave. In his peripheral, Luxian spat at Suzha’s feet. 

“Don’t they call him the First Guardian?” 

Wenzhan froze.

“Some damn guardian he is, letting his own brother piss all over the place. Can’t even take care of his family—”  

Bone cracked along Wenzhan’s heel. Blood splattered. Luxian rolled back with an ugly cry.

“Don’t. You dare. Talk about him.” 

Clutching his mouth, red trickling down his jaw, his fingers, Luxian pushed upright. “Don’t I? Didn’t he raise you? He’s the reason you turned out like this, isn’t he?”

“Wenzhan, Wenzhan,  _ don’t _ —” 

He knew it was goading, intentional, maybe even deliberately planned. And yet, he could not help the way those words bled into his arteries, swallowed up his head. Seeing red, Wenzhan lunged forward. He did not hold back anymore.   

Fighting, he didn’t have the graceful, avian mastery of his brothers—once, yes, but he had long since grinded the style out of his bones. Anything to set himself apart, anything to dilute his Guan blood. His hair, his clothes, his harder body, his rougher martial work. Anything to be just a little less the brother of Guan Anjie.

Yes, his brother was the reason he turned out like this. But how dare the words come from the mouth of a stranger, a man who seemed to know nothing about the First Lord of Guan and the First Guardian of Guilin, who had the audacity to forget—or to be ignorant of—all that his brother had done for this place. 

_ He’s the reason I turned out like this?  _

“Witless dog, he’s the reason you’re alive!”

Luxian screamed. Filled with an untamed fury, Wenzhan beat the man wet and raw.

It was only when Suzha covered the man’s body with her own, in tears, that Wenzhan finally came to his senses. His throat dried at the blood, the shivering form on the ground. He stepped back. A small ring of horrified spectators retreated with him, as if afraid they would be next. Head drumming a thunder, he staggered out of the college grounds. 

“What did I do?” he whispered down the dirt path. “What did I do?”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: Guilin is the name of a real place in China, but it is not the place referred to in this story, which uses the ghost character for Gui and the forest character for lin. Guilin, in the story, is present-day Jiuzhaigou Valley/National Park in the province of Sichuan. After the fictional collapse of the modern era, it was renamed Songshilin, the Turquoise Forest, before it eventually became Guilin, the Ghost Forest.


	5. The House of Guardians | 3

The image of Guilin blood plastered itself to the back of Wenzhan’s eyelids. Viscous crimson spit pools, veined swollen eye. Violet and blue beneath cheek and jaw, a wrist bent to savage distortion. Fingers shivering over fragile ribs. Luxian had baited it, gotten it, and like a fisherman who would boil the wrecking shark, he would no doubt reap the rewards of his suffering.

The diverging paths out of Guilinhe village tempted Wenzhan in desperate whispers. But he could not face his brothers knowing that he had run, that he had left them to shoulder the consequences. So he forced himself back to the Guan estate. Arriving, he shut himself away in his room through the remainder of the afternoon, into the hours of the evening. He ignored the invitation to dinner. He ignored the pelting late summer rain, splattering in from his opened windows, scattering his college parchment. Along the wall, two intricately knotted birds fluttered where they hung. Anjie had made those with him when he was just a child.

Anjie. What would Anjie have to say on the matter of him beating an innocent man? No—his words had been anything but innocent, but they were words, harmless—cutting, boiling—words, only words. Anjie could not possibly remain as gentle-handed and soft-voiced as he had been through all of Wenzhan’s past behavior. Even if he wanted to, House Guan had always held duty before family.  

A foreboding cold sank through his skull. Wenzhan closed his eyes.

Not yet. He wouldn’t think about it yet. When it happened, he’d take it. He would bear the punishment without excuses, without complaints, whether it was a shaming, a hand—hell, an exile. But for now, while he still had these moments, he simply stared at the fluttering birds. Blank-slated his mind and traced the knotted lines of their wings, the stray yarn that a younger Wenzhan’s clumsy fingers had mussed.

An hour after dusk, the knocking tapped at his door.

“Master Guan. Lord Guan requests your presence in the ceremonial hall.”

Wenzhan blinked, feeling dizzy. Wordless, he stood and opened the door. The young attendant kneeling outside bowed her head. Wenzhan passed her and went to the central hall.

He smelled the blood and pungent medical oils before he had walked through the entrance. In the southern center of the room sat Luxian, bandaged and grotesquely battered. He was not alone, for he was so beaten that the trip to the estate would have been impossible to make without aid. His drawn-faced father, his sobbing mother, and a pale young woman who could be his sister were all in attendance. Conversely, the Guan showing was merely Anjie, his righthand Ziyuan, and Jinyue. The others, Wenbo included, were starkly absent.

At least his little sister would be spared his shame.

The eyes that trailed his entrance were cold, righteous, violent, and pained. Only Anjie, sitting in his usual place before the calligraphy script, did not look at him. The deliberate ignorance wrung his heart.

Silent, Wenzhan approached his place between the western pillars, meaning to sit beside Jinyue. He was not particularly surprised when the motion was interrupted.

“Wenzhan.”

At his eldest brother’s call, he took three steps toward center and knelt facing the northern wall. He lowered his head.

“The Song family comes bearing their grievances against you. Is it true that you beat young master Song this afternoon, at the college?”

Wenzhan swallowed. “It is.”

A pause.

“Wenzhan, turn around. Look at him.”

Like his bones could splinter from the pressure, Wenzhan did this. Luxian glared at him with one hazed, reddened eye, the other half of his face disfigured. His left arm was bound, broken. His chest was wrapped with a compression for his ribs. Crutches laid by his legs. Displayed fresh from the crime, Luxian would have had to endure numbing pain to come to the estate tonight. But of course he would—Luxian had taken the beating for exactly this.

Seeing Wenzhan, that one reddened eye flickered with seething, ugly vindication.

Anjie said, “Is it true that you caused each of those injuries?”

Staring at Luxian, Wenzhan said, “It is.”

“Why?”

This question was softer than the rest. Wenzhan slowly turned back to face his brother. He stared at the floor in silence for a long while. “I was angry,” he whispered.

Silence.

Behind him, the mother sobbed quietly.

Wenzhan thought his knuckles would grind into the wood of the floor for how long he knelt there, waiting for judgment. At last, Anjie moved in his peripheral. He looked up.

Beneath the calligraphy, his eldest brother rose. His slender fingers reached for his sword. He removed it from his heavy holster belt, and then he set it on the ground.

“House Guan is sworn to protect the people of Guilin,” said Anjie calmly. “If we fail to do so, then we can only give the people justice.”

Breaths released behind Wenzhan. A louder sob, relieved.

Anjie curled his fingers around the thick wrap of his belt, removing it. They did not own whips in the Guan household. Here, this kind of slow, humiliating corporal punishment was never entertained—at worst, as for the rapist Chang Dazhe, it was a quick and clean cut. But even as the horror and shame crawled beneath his skin, Wenzhan understood. If he was to remain a member of the Guardian House, he could not afford to lose a hand, not after what had happened ten years ago. And yet, justice for what had been done to Luxian warranted nothing lighter than deep, lasting pain.   

The Lord Guan folded the belt in his hands, a decorated and tough leather. In his peripheral, Jinyue tensed. Wenzhan curled his fists against the wood and leaned forward, resigning himself.

“It appears from these injuries that my brother did not withhold his strength. Is it true, Wenzhan?”

Wenzhan forced his body still against the threatening shiver. His voice came out a whisper. “It is.”

“Then neither will we. Will ten lashes suffice?”

Ten lashes at the hand of Guan Anjie, if truly without reservation, would easily cut to the bone. Wenzhan had the constitution to recover from it, but it would be brutal. As brutal as the damage to Luxian, if not more so. But if Luxian’s afternoon insults did not indicate his ignorance of the First Lord’s strength, the Song family’s silence showed it now.

The father bowed his head. “That should be…”

The mother interrupted him. “My lord,” she began, pulling back her tears with a hoarse voice, “please pardon us, but I might have lost my son today. His arm is broken. His ribs are broken. His face is broken! And for what? The doctor would not let him leave the sickbed, but he insisted… He said he could not live if he did not have justice. Please, my lord, if you truly have the people in your heart—you must know that ten lashes from a belt cannot possibly be justice.”

A pause.

“How many do you suggest?” said the Lord Guan.

The mother inhaled. “Fifty,” she said. “At least fifty.”

In his peripheral, Jinyue stood up. “That will kill him. Brother, you can’t.”

Anjie did not reply immediately. But when he did, it was as if he hadn’t heard Jinyue speak.

“Then it will be fifty.”

Wenzhan shut his eyes. A strange sound drifted from Jinyue.

“Let it not be said that House Guan exempts any abuses,” said Anjie. Then with the weight of those metallic eyes upon the bow of Wenzhan’s head: “And let it not be forgotten that our strength is granted only to protect.”

That soft reprimand lashed Wenzhan harder than any weapon could. Breathing through the cold thunder in his head, he waited to be called forward.

“Ziyuan.”

Wenzhan looked up. Confused, because his brother passed the belt to his righthand. Because fifty from Ziyuan would be lighter? Because Anjie couldn’t bear to beat his own brother? But even as he prayed that it was one of the two, he watched his brother remove his pure outer robes. The white fell in folds to the floor. And in his thin black undershirt, pulling his hair over his shoulder, Anjie knelt.

“No. No, no—”

Jinyue grabbed him. Ziyuan lifted the belt. Wenzhan screamed. The first blow landed with a shrill, resounding snap. Ziyuan hesitated, a stripped expression as those copper eyes lingered on Anjie’s hidden back.

“My lord, no, please, this isn’t what we...”

Ziyuan lifted the belt again. The Songs fell into a shocked silence.

Nobody listened to Wenzhan, not when he yelled, not when he sobbed. But eventually, as Anjie lowered his head, his hair falling to hide his face, as the belt sprayed harsh splatters of blood across Ziyuan’s cold cheek, Jinyue’s grip on Wenzhan slackened. Wenzhan didn’t move. He couldn’t anymore. He understood. For the greatest transgression a man of House Guan could commit, fifty lashes were too lenient. They were never meant to be his punishment.   

This was.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voiceless through the tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I will never do it again. Please forgive me. Please, no more...”

When the lashes finally ended, Ziyuan dropped the belt like it burned their hand. Torn from the beating, it hit the floor with a heavy, wet thud. Anjie slowly pressed a hand to his stomach, silent.

“Jinyue,” said Ziyuan, toneless, “will you please escort our visitors to the gate.”

Shaking, Jinyue stood. Once he had gone with the Song family, Ziyuan collected Anjie’s sword, draped Anjie’s discarded outer robes over his body, and gently lifted their lord upright. As they left the hall, Wenzhan stared at his brother’s back. Red soaked through the crane white fabric.

Alone, Wenzhan curled in on himself. Trembling, he gasped against the floor, his tears streaking the wood. It was a long time before he realized he wasn’t crying alone anymore.

Little footsteps. Wenzhan looked up.

Wenbo stood by the bloody belt, her eyes red and her nose running. Her voice came in hiccups, stuttering and uncontrolled. She stared at Wenzhan, a look in her eyes as raw as his heart.

“I hate you,” she said.

“I…”

She picked up the damaged belt and ran away.

Some time after, a soft hand covered his shoulder. “Fifty would have killed you,” said Jinyue, later, as if that somehow lightened what they had just seen. But Wenzhan felt like execution would have been a kinder mercy.

 

* * *

 

“And here I thought the two of you had grown out of beating each other up,” said the doctor Sanhai, patting the medical oils into Anjie’s raw back. The lightness of her tone betrayed no concern, but then again, Sanhai had not so much as trembled when the Yulai army killed her husband and her son. She could not be bothered to rile over even the First Lord’s self-inflicted injuries.  

Ziyuan sighed, leaning against the ward wall. “You’re villainizing me again, Doctor. He was the one who beat me up back then. And he was the one who made me do it today.”

Sitting on the bed, Anjie glanced sideways. “I’m sorry.”

His voice was still fainter than usual, but at least it was a voice. An hour ago, Ziyuan would have claimed magic if Anjie had spoken a word. Mercy to the boys—to the Songs too—that Anjie’s back had been facing Ziyuan alone. Fifty lashes, no bars held? It was impossible. For all the biological advancements of House Guan, even their old cranes were human on the surface. His shirt and skin had torn after one lash. The belt would have snapped after twenty. But even dealing the rest at half-strength, faint hints of Anjie’s silver bones had been visible by the end.

Blessings to the House for the endurance of the cranes. Ziyuan would not have known what to do if Anjie had collapsed before the end of the punishment.

Blessings for their expedited healing too. Now Anjie could be coherent while Ziyuan snarked at him.

“I don’t know if you’re too soft on or too cruel to your brother,” said Ziyuan. “That boy’s going to let anyone in Guilin pommel him into the ground now.”

Anjie made an irritated noise. Sounded like a growl. Uncharacteristic—probably the pain and the oils.  

“What else was I supposed to do? The mother was right. Her son could have died.”

“If you wanted to be fair,” said Sanhai, “you should have beat the boy. If you wanted to teach him a lesson, you should have beat the boy.”

“I think I’ve done both just— _ah_ —”

Sanhai had pressed a hot cell stimulant to his back, stamping it across the openings. Moments later, she pulled the bloodied device away and replaced it with a soft, medicated cloth.

“Anjie. You don’t get to hold their hands forever.” She cleaned his back gently now. “Your brothers and your sister will outlive you by a near century. What will they do in those hundred years if they’re still relying on you to protect them?” She paused, removing the cloth to stare at his back. Ziyuan glimpsed the peripheral span. The magnificent crane upon it was shredded by old scars and fresh, drying wounds. “Guilin as well,” said Sanhai, touching a white rift where there should be black ink. “I respect the decisions you’ve made, but you need to consider the future that comes after you. After us.”

“I have,” he said simply.

Sanhai sighed. “Pass me the bandages, Ziyuan.”

Ziyuan did this, then stayed to help Sanhai with the wrapping. Anjie’s skin was fevered to the touch, the result of overactive regeneration. This close, Ziyuan noted the details of the lashing. The House crane, with her beautiful body spread so proudly, now wore deep slashes across her throat. Blood still leaked from the cuts. Ziyuan repressed a shiver.

The wounds covered, Anjie pushed off the bed and pulled a set of fresh garments over his shoulders. He was tying the sash, straight-backed as ever, when a rapping came on the ward doors.

“Come in,” said Sanhai.

The door slid open. Ziyuan’s messenger boy glanced quickly at the trio, and then approached Ziyuan, offering a folded parchment. “News, Guardian.”

Ziyuan took the parchment. The boy bowed and left. The paper was light in Ziyuan’s hand, sleeker and paler than the traditional parchment of Guilin. Inside were uniform, machine-printed characters. A delivery from the outside world.

The ward was silent while Ziyuan scanned the message. Several bullets were less than relevant. A single point, flagged at the top, drew Ziyuan’s eyes for a linger. Afterward, Ziyuan folded the paper and slipped it in their pocket.

“Anzhou took Mosanguo last night. Xijia surrendered.”

Sanhai grunted. “That’ll do it. Quan Caihe might have her continental dynasty yet.”

Ziyuan looked at Anjie. After a moment, the First Lord said, “It is likely.”

Sanhai sighed. “Let’s hope she’s wiser than her predecessors.”

The corner of Anjie’s lips curved. “She is certainly smarter.”

“Why are you smiling about that? It’s not good news for us.”

“I’m impressed,” said Anjie, arching an eyebrow at the doctor. “She overthrew the sitting regent of Anzhou, re-established the Quan dynasty, and will probably unify the continent all within the span of two decades. I dare say she might rival the Tianxin Emperor in the histories.”

“He called it,” mused Ziyuan, unthinking.

Anjie fell silent. Ziyuan froze.

“Who?” said Sanhai, oblivious.

Ziyuan scratched the back of their ear. “Jun Musheng. Said Quan Caihe would have the continent within the second decade of the century.”

Sanhai laughed, a singular bark.

“Damn bastard. Wasn’t he clever. Shame he didn’t have a heart to go with that head.”

Anjie picked up his sword from the bedside and left the room.

Ziyuan frowned at Sanhai afterward. “That was cold, Doctor.”

“What? It’s true.”

Ziyuan shook their head and took their leave. Outside, Ziyuan caught up to Anjie in the corridor. He wasn’t walking toward his chambers.

“Where are you going? You need rest.”

“To see Ah-Zhan.”

Of course. The boy was a certain wreck right now.

“Go get some rest,” said Anjie. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ziyuan caught Anjie’s wrist. Anjie turned.

In the dim corridor, every imperceptible tell of the First Lord’s expression was laid bare to Ziyuan’s trained eyes. No truth ever escaped them. If Anjie said right now that he was as unbothered as he sounded, it would be a lie.

“I’m sorry,” Ziyuan said after a moment.

“For what?” said Anjie.

Ziyuan hesitated. That apology was weighted, weighted with curses and blood, with desperate pleas and helpless tears, with damning accusations beneath the old and unburnt lake trees, with a decade and a half of time. After thinking, Ziyuan could only reply, “I’m not sure.”

“Then don’t apologize,” said Anjie. He slid his arm free from Ziyuan’s grasp. The corner of his lips lifted, and yet the softness he intended for Ziyuan did not reach his eyes. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Ziyuan. You were right, were you not?”

Anjie turned around, adjusting the loose weight of his garment.

“In any case, it hardly matters anymore.”

Ziyuan looked at the ground, silent.

_Lie._

 

* * *

 

When the wood rapped, Wenzhan was a half-dressed mess sprawled across the bed. Only when he recognized Anjie’s voice did he scramble to adjust his shirt and rub the wetness from his face. Heart pounding, he stumbled to the door and shoved it open.

Anjie stood in clean robes, as if untouched. Seeing him straight-backed and calm, Wenzhan fell to his knees. He wanted to clutch the soft fabric in front of him, but he dared not touch his brother. Curling near the ground, he said, “I’m sorry, An-Ge. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”

A sigh.

“Will you let me inside first, Ah-Zhan?”

Clenching his jaw, Wenzhan shifted back from the frame. Anjie shut the door gently. His brother moved away momentarily to light the nightstand candles, and then returned to the door. Perhaps seeing that Wenzhan was not going to move far from the frame, Anjie sat kneeling across from him. His soft fingers brushed Wenzhan’s chin and lifted his face upward. Wenzhan shut his eyes at the touch, his skin horribly electric.

“Look at me, Ah-Zhan.”

A cold washed down his bones. Wenzhan opened his eyes, willing the lump in his throat to dissipate on its own. No chance, not when he saw that painfully beautiful face caressed by the firelight.

Anjie folded his hands back in his lap. With a faint frown, he said, “You didn’t answer me properly in the hall. Why did you hurt that boy, Ah-Zhan?”

Wenzhan swallowed. At the first chance he got, his eyes flickered downward again.

“I was angry,” he said, because it was the first thing that came to his unsteady mind.

“You would not hurt someone merely because you are angry.”

“Does it matter? I beat him. He was vulnerable. Does it matter why?”

Anjie paused.

“It does not matter by the oaths of our house,” he said after a while. “But it matters to me.”

Wenzhan’s fingers dug into his legs.

“He said you were the reason I turned out like this,” whispered Wenzhan. When he heard his own words, he shook his head fiercely, looking at Anjie. “It isn’t true. It isn’t your fault. I’m just—I’m just fucked up. I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be in this house...with you, I...”

_Love you._

“Oh, Ah-Zhan.”

Anjie stood. Took two steps forward. Wenzhan looked up.

Before he could blink in the shadow, his brother had knelt again. Arms encircled his back, pulling him into a warm embrace. Wenzhan could feel the fevered heat of his brother’s skin, the hard rhythm of his tried and tired pulse. He could smell the blood and the oils, the faint undertone of lily ginger. Taste the gentle brush of those lips in his hair.

But his delusional want was staggered by a quiet whisper.

“I’m sorry, little brother.”

“Why are you apologizing?” He paused. “Why...why are you crying?”

Anjie did not respond immediately. At last he said, “Because my family was made to protect Guilin, and yet I don’t know how to protect my family from this place.”

The zither beneath young Jinyue’s fingertips, trembling that moonless night.

“I don’t understand.”

The embrace tightened. Wenzhan slipped his hand within the soft folds of Anjie’s robes, drinking in the vulnerable warmth. He rested his head against Anjie’s shoulder, breathing the gentle scent of his pulse.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to understand it.”

“An-Ge?”

Anjie pulled away. In the candlelight, the remnant tears that glistened along his cheek struck Wenzhan breathless. Pain swallowed his chest, and shame, his gut.  

_Please, Heavens, spare me this._

“I don’t want you to fight anyone for me,” said Anjie softly. “If you fight, it must be to protect. Do you understand?”

Wenzhan nodded numbly.

“I don’t want you to say those words. That you are fucked up. That you don’t belong here.” Anjie shook his head, his eyes not leaving. “There is nothing wrong with you, Ah-Zhan. And none of us belong here. We were simply born here.”

“How do you know there’s nothing wrong with me?”

How did he know, if he didn’t know that his voice broke softly in the most vivid of his brother’s dreams? If he didn’t know that his lips were feather-soft and spring mint in those same dreams? If he could not even see that in this very moment, Wenzhan would give a decade of his life to lean forward and kiss him, hold him, have him?

Anjie gripped his shoulders. His copper eyes burned.

“Because you are good. And in this world, that is all that matters.”

Wenzhan blinked.

Anjie withdrew and rose. A slow motion, perhaps tinged with the ache of his wounds. But he spoke gently anyway. “Tomorrow, will you come have breakfast with us?”

Wordless, Wenzhan nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: Guan, fourth tone, translates to “crane”.


	6. The House of Guardians | 4

September came, and the days breezed slowly by.

On the twelfth, which was a special day, Jinyue found himself running through the Rizhai outskirts at dawn. The streets were muddy from a shower the night before, and he did not have time to navigate puddles. Thick brown stained the lower quarter of his white robes, splattering the rooftop shingles when he hopped on for the elevation. Down below, his target sprinted in wild lunges and intoxicated gasps.

The man had been charged with assault and destruction of property. This was not why Jinyue had spent the early hours of morning hunting him down, however. More concerning than the man’s disturbed trashing of the shopkeeper’s wares and customers was the substance he had been accused of consuming—and selling.

Jinyue saw it clearly when he jumped off the rooftop, cornering the man in a dead end alley. The man flailed backward, gasping like a pained wildhog, his veined eyes dilated to black.

“No!” he screamed, voice hoarse. “I didn’t piss in it! I didn’t piss!”

Jinyue frowned. “What?”

“The soup is yellow! The soup is sour and yellow!”

The man was delusional. Sighing, Jinyue unhinged the leather handcuffs on his belt. As he stepped forward, the man yelped and fell to the wet ground, curling with his hands over his head. His shouts became incoherent mutters, a string of words about food and urine, and even more incomprehensibly, blue moss.

“It’s not moss, is it? What do they call it? Heavensbane?” Jinyue knelt by the man. The man scampered away, but the wall was close behind him. Jinyue said, as kindly as he could manage, “The soup is sour and yellow. You will hurt yourself if you keep running. Give me your hands and let me help you.”

The man whimpered. His eyes narrowed at Jinyue, tremors twitching the lids. Those swollen pupils scanned Jinyue’s clothes.

“Crane,” said the man at last. “Crane. Crane.”

“Yes,” said Jinyue.

Slowly, the man held his hands forward. Jinyue smiled so as to not alarm him, and then cuffed his wrists. Only after the cuffs had locked did the man seem to realize what had happened. He stared at his bound hands, and then screamed again.

“Up you come,” said Jinyue. “We’ll have our doctor take a look at you.”

“No! No! I didn’t piss!”

Jinyue held the man by his shoulder and his cuffs. All his intoxicated struggling did nothing against Jinyue, who moved him forward through the town. A pair of women walking down the streets with wheelbarrows of market produce slowed to stare. Jinyue nodded at their alarmed expressions while his captive continued to scream nonsense. One of the women lifted her sleeve over her mouth and giggled, though there was little amusing to Jinyue about the state of the poor fellow.

He intended to walk the man back to the estate, since Jinyue had come to Rizhai by foot this morning. But passing through the town center, he was stopped by a small hoard of footsteps.

Three men and a woman intercepted his path, each wearing the blue uniform of the Provincial Council’s enforcers. The woman, who appeared to be heading the group, clasped her hands and bowed in front of Jinyue.

“Master Guan. Thank you for your trouble. We’ll take the criminal off your hands now.”

The ‘criminal’ shrieked even louder. “I didn’t want the moss! They put it in my food!”   

“He’s coming back to the Guan estate with me,” said Jinyue.

“I must insist,” said the enforcer. “That man has been charged with the possession and distribution of an outside poison.”

Heavensbane, this so-called blue moss—the drug intoxicating him to madness right now. It had appeared in Guilin once before, and under the examination of their shamans, it was confirmed to be a chemical substance produced under the advanced engineering of the states beyond Guilin. For all the temporary ecstasy the drug allowed, their people didn’t have the constitution to endure its dangerous side-effects. To sell it within Guilin was a crime indeed.

Still, Jinyue pursed his lips. “I will bring him back to the estate for treatment.”

“Our doctors are sufficient for that, Master Guan. We will take care of him.”

Jinyue narrowed his eyes.

“Quite responsible today, aren’t you? I did not see the Council interfering when one of our women was raped last month.”

“I’ve heard of no such thing.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

Such was the self-important nature of the Council’s enforcers. They managed the people of Guilin and little else. Like any political entity, the Provincial Council that governed Guilin could not exist without an executive arm. House Guan was not their lapdog, and so the Council had created their own band of quasi-police to enforce their laws. It was a coexistence delineated by unspoken agreements: the Council and their enforcers, respecting the strength and guardianship of House Guan, would not retrospectively challenge any dealings of House Guan; and House Guan, sworn to protect Guilin—including the integrity of its governance—would not interfere with legal matters already claimed by the Council.

Jinyue wished he could pretend he didn’t know where this particular matter fell. The matter of substance abuse was carefully written into the Council code. And since House Guan hadn’t already executed the man—not that they would have—he fell under Council jurisdiction.

Reluctantly, Jinyue released the man. The man scrambled to run. He was caught by two enforcers.

“What will the Council do?”

The lead enforcer inclined her head again. “Don’t worry yourself over it, Master Guan.” She straightened with a polite smile. “Please, enjoy the celebrations tonight. You have our regards.”

With that, the enforcers led the screaming man away. By then his voice was torn and weak. Jinyue watched them fade down the street, a dark cloud swarming his chest.

“Master Guan, Master Guan!”

He turned. A young boy carrying a basket of fresh autumn corn waved at him.

“Master Guan! Do you like sweet bean or lotus seed? My mama’s makin’ baozi for you tonight!”

“Oh?” said Jinyue.

“Yeah!” said the boy. “She says Lady Jie made the best baozi! Though you might miss ‘em, so…” The boy grinned widely. “So sweet bean? Or lotus seed? Or both?”

Jinyue smiled, his discomfort forgotten.

“I’d love some lotus seed baozi.”

“We’ll make lots!” said the boy. “You’d better save room!”

Jinyue laughed. With a thank you for the boy, whose name he didn’t know, he began his walk back to the Guan estate.

 

* * *

 

It happened at the abandoned shrine inside the valley forest.  

Nine years old and naive, Wenzhan had lingered too long in the shadows. He was searching for a white fox that day, because the school children had fooled him into thinking an immortal godling lived in such a form, haunting the valley forest. By chance, he’d chased down a white creature to the lost shrine. And because it was a shrine—though old, centuries old, chipped, and covered in living greens—he fancied it must be fate. The immortal fox had brought him to the shrine to pray.

Ironic, in retrospect.

He wasn’t supposed to be there that day. He was supposed to be at the Guan estate, studying. Playing in the woods was a delinquent offense, so when Wenzhan heard the approaching footsteps, he hid behind the trees. The wiser course have been to leave the area entirely, yet he was not ready to give up on meeting his white fox. Then he recognized the voices, and immortal godlings did not matter so much.

Hard to pin at first. The first voice was strewn by breath and laughter, nothing in the way of its usual elegant composure. Light footsteps ran to a stop within the shrine. The laughing gave way to words, a smile curling the syllables.

“Not coming?”

The second set of footsteps had stopped chasing.

“It’s a shrine,” said the second voice, windblown and deep. Distinct. Wenzhan straightened and fought the urge to peer at the owner.

A light laugh, Anjie’s. “Enjoy your superstitions, then. I will be in here.”

There was a pause. Meanwhile, Wenzhan frowned behind the trees. He was of the same mind as Ziyuan—there was something unlikeable about _that_ man, the one with Anjie, something disturbingly paradoxical about his strange softness and sharpness. Back then, Wenzhan was not so viscerally jealous. He was merely irritated to see his brother playing games with _him_.

And it was a game, a ridiculous sort. The autumn leaves suddenly rustled. Those footsteps struck old stone. Anjie laughed again—and was cut off sharply with a quick breath and other sounds. Wenzhan made a face, innocent enough to be vaguely horrified at the concept of kissing. It went on for quite a time too, dissolving from something passioned to something gentle.

At last, between the breaths, Anjie’s soft, unhinged words drifted over. Wenzhan would not have caught the intimate murmur if he did not have his sharpened hearing.

“You’ll be cursed for this, Jun Musheng.”

Another kiss.

“I don’t care,” said Musheng, in a voice that Wenzhan had never heard before.  

“Says the man who dares not point at the moon.”

“I don’t care,” said Musheng again. “I’ll take any curse for you.”

Anjie laughed yet again. His lungs had seemed to be filled with the ease of it that day. “Brave words. But the old shrine gods can be quite cruel, don’t you know?” Faintly softer, “They can lock you in a cage and bind you to a blade. Are you sure you can endure such a curse?”

A pause.

“I would rather free you from it,” said Musheng. “But if that’s not possible, then yes. I’ll share it with you.”

Quiet. The forest trees hushed with a breeze.    

“I’m not sure I want that,” Anjie eventually murmured. His voice sounded muffled, vulnerable and protected at once.

“I do,” said Musheng. “Let the shrine gods hear my words, Guan Anjie. I want you.”

Their conversation melted away afterward. Wenzhan, entranced, felt his nerves crawl beneath his skin as the sounds echoed in his ears. It would be years before those feelings of confusion, revulsion, and innocent fascination morphed into something else. And then the raw, ruined mess of Anjie’s voice would haunt his dreams like the horrific shrine curses he had warned his lover of, always whispering that same name.

_Musheng._

_Musheng._

_Musheng._

“Wenzhan. Oh, Wenzhan—Wen—fuck, _fuck_ —I’m—”

Nails dug into his skin, a shuddered groan. He finished and collapsed onto the bed, rolling to the edge. As always, the shame came after the high of his fantasies. Frustration drummed his pulse, built in his throat. He shut his eyes and ignored the gasps heaving behind him.

 _There is nothing wrong with you_.

How laughable. There could be little more wrong in the world than dreaming of his name on his brother’s lips while he came inside a woman.

Fingers traced his back. Wenzhan didn’t move, letting that gentle hand stain with his sweat and intangible grime.

“You alright?” said Suzha.

Wenzhan grunted.

“Well, aren’t you pleasant? Not even a _thank you_? I let you go at it pretty hard, too.” As if to prove her point, Suzha hissed as she shifted upright. “Don’t remember the last time you were so rough.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Despite the pained noise, Suzha was smiling down at him. In the orange evening sunlight, her skin shimmered, a mixture of afterglow and moisture. Her eyes were faintly hazed, her lips swollen. A beautiful sight, yet only barely enough to nudge away Wenzhan’s uglier thoughts.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Suzha laughed. “There we go. Our boy still has his manners.” She pat his ass and then sauntered off to the washroom of her tiny apartment complex. When she returned with fresh robes and damp hair, she said, “So I’ve been hearing about a thing tonight at your place. Care to catch me up?”

Wenzhan opened his eyes, which had drifted closed during her shower. “The Remembrance. It’s the annual thanksgiving.”

“Keep talking.”

He sighed and sat up. Suzha had come to Guilin several months after last year’s Remembrance, so she was asking for the whole exposition. Too lazy to give it in detail, Wenzhan merely said, “It’s to thank House Guan for defending Guilin against the last invasion.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about that. Yulai put on a two year siege, didn’t they?”

“One year. And it wasn’t a siege.”

“How old were you then?”

“Ten.”

Suzha crawled onto the bed again, eyes lighting up with curiosity. “Yeah? What happened?”

He scratched his head in annoyance.

“People fought. People died. They kept me out of it. So I guess, if you want my perspective, it was a lot of sitting around waiting for the damned killing to stop.”

“I heard Yulai got swallowed up by Xijia and Beiguo afterward. Too crippled from the battles here to defend themselves.”

“I guess.”

“But House Guan’s just, what, a hundred people? Less? Yulai was a whole kingdom.”

Wenzhan grunted again, tugging his clothes over and beginning to dress.

“So, it’s an open invitation?”

“Huh?”

“To the thanksgiving thing. Can I come?”

He paused, uncertain if he wanted his family meeting Suzha. She was neither a girlfriend nor a simple friend—a keeper, perhaps, for his rawer self. She did not know his secrets, but she knew the unadulterated consequences of having them, the urges that drove him to drink and fight and fuck and drown himself in his self-destructive indulgence. He preferred their relationship private.

Suzha tugged lightly at his ear. “What? Ashamed of me?”

He shrugged her off and stood. “Come if you want.”

By nightfall, the town was adorned with fresh red and white lanterns in honor of the guardian house. Guilinhe village was even more vivid, paper cranes twined from light pole to light pole. Come morning, the lanterns would be hidden and the cranes would be burnt. They were meant to sit vigil for only one night, a restriction set by the old First Lords of House Guan so that thanksgiving was merely thanksgiving, and remembrance remained remembrance. There had been many past Remembrance days for all the times House Guan had protected Guilin in its three hundred and sixty year history. Each Remembrance day had been overridden by the next, so that House Guan was only celebrated like this once a year.  

A precaution like the sterility of their unchosen descendants, like the intentional crippling of their shamans: The Guardian House must never be glorified beyond these singular days of celebration, lest one day, their pride led them to forget their purpose. With power like theirs, such a thing would become a nightmare.

Already, the people of Guilin flooded the fields and gardens beyond the Guan estate. It was a night to express gratitude, so they came bearing gifts and flags, children sitting atop shoulders with woven cranes in their hands. Stalls had been set up with food and goods, things to sustain the growing crowd through the night. It was not an extravagantly planned affair, but a simple gesture—so that when the guardians of Guilin looked outside their estate windows tonight, they might see the love of the province keeping them company.

Wenzhan purchased a crane mask from a vendor on his way to the estate and wore it now, inconspicuous among the crowd. If anyone recognized his figure and shorn hair, they seemed respectful enough of his efforts to leave him alone. Beside him, Suzha handed over the coins for a bag of dried plums. Plopping one in her mouth, she asked, “So, what’s next?”

“Nothing,” he said. “They just come here to hang out.”

“How exciting.”

“We can leave.”

As he said it, a cheering rippled through the crowd. A row of villagers dressed in beautiful red-gemmed, white-silk robes were floating into the center of a quickly forming opening. “Make way, make way,” shouted a young boy at the head of the procession. “The cranes come to dance!” The cheers started again as the young boy, along with two girls, began to beat the drums hanging at their chests in practiced harmony.  

Suzha tugged at Wenzhan’s sleeve and pointed toward the thick, low branch of a nearby tree.

“Let’s go over there.”

He followed her. They were sitting on the branch moments later, hidden by the canopy shadow and overlooking the estate exterior. Irritated by the holding string, Wenzhan peeled the crane mask off his face. Below, the performance flowed. It carried the rhythm of battle, yet with a romanticized beauty.

“It’s not bad,” said Suzha. “Want to try one?”

Wenzhan peered at her. She held out a dark plum. When he reached for it, she pressed the small, salted treat into his mouth.

“Say, Wenzhan, if there’s ever another invasion, would you have to fight too?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I guess I have to.”

Suzha made a noise and looked forward again. “That’s kind of fucked, isn’t it? Not saying you’d definitely die, but you really don’t get a say in whether you get to keep your life or not, do you?”

“People don’t get a say in a lot of things,” said Wenzhan.

“Have you ever thought about leaving?”

He frowned. “What?”

“Leaving. Getting the hell out of this place. You said it yourself, to Luxian. You never asked to be a Guan. Guilin’s beautiful and all, but there’s a whole ‘nother world out there. So, Wen-Gege…” She leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “Let’s elope.”

Wenzhan pushed her away. She laughed loudly, scrambling for balance on the tree branch.

The dancing cranes on the ground were joined by masked, golden-cloaked men—the soldiers of Yulai. A riveting tension between their motions peaked and ebbed. In the end, the soldiers sprawled themselves gracefully on the ground, mimicking death. The cranes clustered around a single dancer, whose white robes were tossed aside with a flourish. Beneath it was a second robe, pure crimson. The crowd roared.

“What’s that supposed to be?” said Suzha.

Wenzhan swallowed a lump in his throat.

“The Red Crane.”

“You don’t look like you’re about to join the cheering.”

A pause.

“That’s my brother,” he said quietly. The exaltation of the crowd was hard to bear because it was joyful, idolizing. Never witness to the tears on his brother’s face. The words pressed at his throat, a fierce protective instinct. He exhaled. “You said House Guan is only a hundred people, and Yulai was a kingdom. Yeah, it was a kingdom. And we weren’t ready when they came the first time. We thought we were. But we had a fucking snake with us. They wiped out over half our house that first invasion. My parents. My uncles, cousins.”

“In the first invasion alone? Then how…”

“My brother survived,” said Wenzhan. He looked at the crimson garments on the dancer. They should be torn, gored, hideous. “They say that when the fighting was over, not a speck of white was left on his robes. They say it was like this the first time, and it was like this the last time. They say it was all the blood of his enemies, but—” Wenzhan barked a laugh, humorless. “When the war was finally over, you would have thought he’d carved all the blood out of his own heart instead.”

Suzha was silent.

Wenzhan shrugged.

“It’s a heroic story for masses. For me, it’s just a reminder of how useless I was when he needed us.”

The cheering faded. The dancers dissipated into the crowd.

Later, well into the night, the gates of the estate opened. The guardians emerged to greet the crowd, try their food, accept their gifts.  It was not a procession, just intermittent and casual. Wenzhan spotted Jinyue, kneeling with a smile among a circle of youths, accepting a bag of steaming baozi.

“You should go join them,” said Suzha.

Wenzhan shook his head.

Before Suzha could press again, Anjie appeared with Ziyuan at his side. Those two drew a different ripple through the gathering, a warm hush, a respectful retreat, as if afraid to suffocate the two guardians with their intense admiration. Noticing, Suzha said, “That’s him? Your eldest brother?”

Wenzhan nodded.

“It’s my first time seeing him,” said Suzha. There was an odd tension to her voice.

Wenzhan turned to her, frowning. She met him quickly with a smile. Too quickly.

“He’s something else, I’ll give you that.”

He paused.

“Yeah.”

He turned back to Anjie. A villager was kneeling before him, offering fine red garments in her weathered hands. Anjie pulled her gently upright, taking the gift with a smile and some certainly gracious words. As he straightened, he brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Aside from this small slip, nothing about his appearance was out of place. Nothing about his motions, about his expression. He was as polished as fine porcelain, displayed upon a pedestal to be admired.

Wenzhan’s thoughts drifted back to the forest shrine. Back then, when Anjie’s voice had broken, a young Wenzhan had mistaken the sounds as pain. Afraid for his brother, he had bolted out of the cover of the trees. He’d stumbled ferociously toward that shrine, only to find his brother’s arms wrapped around the man above him. Anjie had reacted quickly, shoving back Musheng and sitting upright.

“Ah-Zhan!” he said, as flustered as Wenzhan had ever—and ever would—see him. Yet even as his face flushed and he scrambled to cover his hips, his body curled closer to the man next to him. Musheng had instinctively shielded him at the intrusion, his dark hand sprawling over the crane on Anjie’s back. “What are you doing here?”

“He—he was hurting you!”

Musheng rubbed his brow, chuckling. “Ah, heavens…”

With a sharp frown, Anjie shoved at Musheng, which only roused more laughter. “This is not amusing. Ah-Zhan, you should be studying. Go on home.”

“But…”

Perhaps sensing Wenzhan’s lingering suspicion of Musheng, Anjie said, “He isn’t hurting me, Ah-Zhan. Look, he hasn’t even hit back. And he could not hurt me if he tried. Go on, please.”

Wenzhan had gone. Because indeed, who could hurt the untouchable Guan Anjie?

And who could humanize the perfect, deified First Guardian of Guilin?

No one, thought Wenzhan with an aching bitterness—no one so brutally, and so thoroughly, as the man he had left his brother to beneath the shrine of the fox god.

“Wenzhan? Wenzhan, he’s looking this way.”

Wenzhan blinked. The valley forest faded away. Indeed, his brother had spotted him in the tree, and was smiling. Wenzhan returned the gesture, his lips pulling weakly. Inside, his heart wrung. For all the softness of those copper eyes, all the warmth they held for the people of Guilin, that smile had been porcelain for a long decade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: There is a popular rural Chinese superstition in which pointing at the moon brings bad luck. According to Anjie, Musheng won’t do it because he’s quite superstitious--hence why he hesitated to bring himself beneath an old shrine, afraid of its associated curses. Perhaps his fear was justified…


	7. The House of Guardian | 5

****The people of Guilin provided more food on the Remembrance night than even a household of a starving hundred could consume. Late afternoon on the following day, so that the perishables would not go to waste, Jinyue wheeled a barrow of leftovers to the Rizhai poorhouse for dinner. He had the time on his hands and a desire to be present among the people, for after the celebrations last night, he’d slept with the elevated feeling of a lordling. Not what the thanksgiving was meant to instill. Humility was not a natural condition but a deliberate effort, so Jinyue rolled the food pile through the roads.

The red lanterns were down. The paper cranes were gone. Jinyue walked beneath the soft autumn breeze, the vivid greens that had not yet yellowed. At his side, his young attendant followed in respectful silence.

“Are you sure you’d not rather have a break?” said Jinyue.

The seventeen year old Su Cailan started at his sudden question. Shaking her head, she said, “It’s fine, Master Guan.”

Jinyue smiled, not arguing. She was a devoted girl, had been since her family joined House Guan as a peripheral branch nine years ago. The Sus, which once served the Guilin Provincial Council as enforcers, had fought against the final Yulai invasion with extraordinary courage. It was only fitting that Anjie offered them a place in the household afterward. Jinyue’s attendant was only an eight year old girl at the time, but she had blossomed into a resilient warrior and would almost certainly, in due time, receive the crane upon her back. He was lucky to have her service.

Wanting to make her time today worthwhile, Jinyue struck up a conversation.

“You’ll be taking the college entrance exams at the end of this year, no?”

Cailan started again. “Ah, yes, Master Guan.”

“That’ll be good. There will be someone to keep an eye out on Wenzhan while he’s wrapping up his studies.”

“I would have to pass the exams first, Master Guan.”

“It isn’t so difficult,” said Jinyue, recalling his time at the college. In Guilin there was only one college, and it had educated almost every member of the Guan family. “I suppose it may feel that way since you haven’t been in school for a time. Perhaps you’d like to take the next two months off to prepare?”

“T-that’s not necessary, Master Guan! I wouldn’t want to leave you unattended.”

“I’ve been attending to myself for some time before I took you on. Of course, you’d be sorely missed, but your education comes first.”

The girl looked at the ground and lifted a hand as if to brush hair behind her ear. But there was no hair to brush, as hers had been primly tied into a bun. “I wouldn’t say so, Master Guan. There isn’t much I would do with a college education. My place is…” She paused, like the words had hinged in her throat. Swallowing, “With House Guan.”

Jinyue lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t seem certain of that.”

“Ah, no! No, that isn’t why… Master Guan, I am certain of it, I am. There’d be no greater honor than to serve House Guan for the rest of my life, I know it.”

Jinyue chuckled. “You won’t be able to take back those words when you receive the crane. But until then, don’t bury your options. Besides, don’t you know of Zhang Lanyu and Xi Mona? They’re able to make a life outside of Guilin because of their education at the college. We do need cranes to keep up with the rest of the world’s affairs, after all. Perhaps one day you would like to be one of them.”

“I…”

“Hm?”

Cailan bit her lip and glanced down again. “Yes, Master Guan.”  

They arrived at the Rizhai poorhouse shortly before dinnertime, when a small line of children, beggars, and elderly was forming along the street. Jinyue smiled at their waves, more energetic than their hunger would normally allow. He handed the food to the poorhouse keeper to distribute fairly, and then because his own dinner was not for another hour and a half, he lingered to help hand out the portions. The large windows of the poorhouse soon became decorated with the peering faces of children.

“Not sure if they’re here to eat with their mouths or their eyes,” said the poorhouse keeper, a jovial woman with silvering hair.

Jinyue laughed. “Dining should be an affair for all the senses, no?”

“Tell it to the kids, Master Guan. Food’ll run out if they don’t stop staring!”

Jinyue smiled and finished piling a tray of food. He passed it to his attendant. “Cailan, for the children, if you don’t mind. The little ones. Tell the rest to line up, please.”

Cailan nodded and went.

When she had gone out of earshot, the keeper chuckled. “That one likes you, Master Guan.”

“Hm?”

“The young lady. I know girls when I see ‘em. And I know young masters too. Break her heart easy, alright?”

Jinyue blinked, hesitating to pass a portion to the next man in line. It was the first he’d heard of such a thing, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Cailan, after all, was but seventeen. And Jinyue had never felt any attraction toward women—or men.  

“Are you sure you’re not mistaken, Mrs. He? Perhaps it’s just her kind nature.”

The keeper barked a laugh. “ _You_ have a kind nature, Master Guan, and no one’s going around mistaking it for anything else.”

Jinyue shifted uncomfortably.

A little while later, the decor of peering faces scattered from the windows. Curious, Jinyue looked that way. Beyond the glass, a stir was happening. The same went for the end of the line, near and past the exit—something outside was drawing their attention.

Jinyue frowned, listening to the chattering crowd. Somebody murmured, _madman._

“Excuse me,” said Jinyue, setting down the food. He pushed his way through the crowd and left the poorhouse.  

The poorhouse was just beyond the ring of the town square, where the authoritative words of a hard voice was luring throngs of people. Behind Jinyue, Cailan called to him. He didn’t respond, a cold foreboding sealing his lips as he followed the throng forward. Soon he emerged into the square opening. He was met with the face of a familiar man atop the central platform.

The murmurs of the crowd and the declarations of the enforcers blurred behind his pulse. That man had been changed into cheap white garments, and the garments were stained wet and yellow—yellow like the soup he’d screamed of. Eyes dilated, but not with Heavensbane. Red veins, not from a high. His hair was wilder than the last morning, giving him the silhouette of a truer madman. But beneath the clear evening light, his face was sober, stark, and terrified.

_Distribution of an outlawed poison...hereby sentenced to death…_

Jinyue pushed the crowd apart. An executioner unsheathed a heavy sword.

“Wait,” he said. “Wait!”

By the foot of the platform, an elderly man stopped screaming. This man pried himself out of the enforcers’ arms that held him back, staggering with a frail form toward Jinyue. “Master Guan! Master Guan, please, my son—my son—”

Jinyue looked at the executioner, an unfamiliar man. He looked behind the executioner, at the woman who had led the enforcers, the same one who had delivered the sentencing. She gazed down at him, frowning faintly.

“Master Guan.”

“This can’t be right,” said Jinyue. “The death penalty is far too severe for his crime.”

“With all due respect, Master Guan, that is for the Council to decide.”

Jinyue shook his head. “You would be killing a man for a lesser evil. He does not deserve to die!”

“He attempted to poison the people of Guilin for little but his own greed. If such a transgression is not deserving of death, then how may be call ourselves the protectors of the province?”

She meant to slap his cheek with those words. And he did feel the sting on his skin, of a righteous fury—that she had the nerve to pretend guardianship when she had a blade to a man’s throat. Gritting his teeth, Jinyue said, “Hold the punishment. House Guan claims right to this judgment.”

The enforcer arched an eyebrow.

“Upon what grounds?”

Jinyue didn’t respond.

“It is the code of the Council that this man violated, Master Guan. The right to judgment belongs to the Council. And the Council has judged. He will die, and cease to be a threat to Guilin.”

Jinyue’s hand lifted to his sword hilt.

“Master Guan!” cried the elderly father.

“Master Guan,” said Cailan.

The enforcer’s gaze drifted to the threat at his palm. Then she locked on his eyes. “Master Guan,” said the enforcer, “These are the laws of Guilin. We did not change them for this man. You would not be drawing your blade against us.”

His grip tightened. “Let him go.”

“These are the laws of Guilin,” said the enforcer again.

In Jinyue’s silence, a stillness hung over the town square. The seconds ticked. His hand quivered.

Then the executioner lifted his blade.

“Master Guan! Master Guan, please—”

The father clawed at Jinyue’s robes, his voice shredded and wet. Cailan held the old man back, her eyes plastered wide to Jinyue. The metal carvings of Jinyue’s sword stretched the skin of his cold, unsteady palm.

On the platform, the sentenced man stared at Jinyue.

 _Crane,_ he had said.  _Crane._

“Please,” whispered this man now, “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.”

“Master Guan,” pled the father, “save my son! Please save my son! Master Guan!”

“I don’t want to die...”

“Master Guan!”

The blade fell.

A head rolled to the edge of the platform.

The voices became silent.

“Ah-Ming,” whispered the old man. “Ah-Ming. Ah-Ming. My son. My son…”

On the platform, the enforcer clasped her hands and bowed at Jinyue. Cailan took his arm and guided him out of the crowd. Numb, he staggered after her, his hand slipping loose from his sealed blade.

 

* * *

 

“Jin-Ge. Jin-Ge, you’ve got the wrong tempo.”

Wenbo tugged at Jinyue’s sleeve, interrupting the mechanical vibrations of his zither strings. It was that same late evening after Jinyue had missed dinner. He sat with his little sister and his elder brother in the family’s private tea room, an autumn breeze drifting in from the night garden at his back. Solar lights illuminated the room while Wenbo practiced her zither with him, while Anjie scripted the affairs of the day for his records. Now his brother’s pen hovered in his hand, eyes lifting at the interrupted music.

Jinyue pushed his thoughts away. Smiling for his little sister, he said, “Maybe you should try.”

Wenbo straightened her back and poised her fingers over her strings. With a flourished pluck, an earthen melody began. The usual tones of her youthful energy simmered peacefully, as if she were not a ten year old child but as old as the wood of her instrument—as old as the composition itself. _The Moon over the Mountain_ thrummed gently through the tea room, dreamlike. The soft noise of pen against paper began again.

“Almost,” said Jinyue when the music had ended.

Wenbo frowned. “Almost?”

He hadn’t been concentrated enough to recall the flaws of her long rendition. So instead, he said, “You did well tonight. It’s late now, so let’s continue tomorrow.”

Wenbo slumped again, crossing her arms. “Don’t wanna.”

“Don’t want to continue tomorrow?”

“Don’t wanna go.”

Jinyue frowned. This was a first. Typically, the girl was more than eager to be done with her zither lessons. Even Anjie had paused again, though it was only a quick glance this time.

“Why not?” said Jinyue.

Wenbo hunched a little further. With an uncharacteristic mumble, “Bad dreams.”

“Bad dreams?” Jinyue chuckled. “What about?”

In their peripheral, Anjie tore off a parchment from his notebook and crumpled it.

“Don’t know,” said Wenbo. “Lots. I had to pull the feathers off a bird last night. And then the moon turned yellow and red and fell down, and then my teeth turned all yellow and red and fell out!” she said, pointing to her upper incisors. “And, and…” She straightened now, pouting. “And Wen-Ge kept putting fish bones in An-Ge’s soup. The sharp ones too!”

Jinyue looked at Anjie, who was smiling now.

“Bobo…”

“Ah-Bo,” said Anjie, “when was the last time you spoke to Ah-Zhan?”

“Um…”

“Two weeks, no?” said Anjie.

Wenbo scratched her cheek guiltily. Two weeks ago was when the Songs had come for justice with their injured son—when Anjie, upon hearing their accusations against Wenzhan, had ordered their little sister up to bed before calling in their younger brother.

“Did you know the plums you had for breakfast yesterday were from him? He went early to the market to fetch them fresh for you.”

Wenbo looked down, biting her lip.

“I am sure that if he was putting fish bones in my soup, it was because he thought it best for the flavor.” Anjie paused. When Wenbo looked up, he continued. “Your brother made a mistake and he has hurt for it enough. What must he be feeling now, to know that his beloved little sister can’t forgive him?”

She scratched her ear, silent.

Jinyue sighed. In due time, she would make amends with Wenzhan.

“Would you like to spend the night with Lulu?” said Jinyue, speaking of the other young girls in the household. “Or maybe Tiantian? Company is a good medicine for nightmares.”

“Lulu broke my pencils,” said Wenbo. “Maybe Ruo-Jie.”

They tidied away her zither. Before she left the room, Wenbo ran up to Anjie’s table and leaned over, kissing his cheek. He was the only one she did this for, as Anjie had raised her since she was months old with the same affection. In a way, Jinyue understood her reluctance to forgive Wenzhan for causing the beating she had disobediently witnessed. Wenzhan was her older brother. Anjie was her older brother too, but also the closest to a parent she would ever have.

When the tea room doors slid shut behind their sister, Jinyue turned back to his own zither. He laid his fingers over the strings, heavy.

“Did something happen today, Ah-Yue?”

Jinyue watched the solar light glimmer off a string. “I let a man die today.”

Anjie set his pen down, waiting.

“He was a vulnerable man,” said Jinyue, softly. “He made a mistake. Heavensbane. I believe he tried to sell it. But he didn’t hurt anyone.” He paused. “They executed him at the square. His father was there. He begged me to save his son.” Jinyue shook his head. “I didn’t. My sword was in my hand, and I let him die.”

A silence. The autumn cicadas chirped.

“You did not let him die, Ah-Yue. You did not have the power to stop it.”

“But I did. You know I could have done it.”

“Yes,” said Anjie, “but the power to disregard the law of Guilin is absolute. If we take that power, then we become absolute. House Guan does not exist to govern or to control, Ah-Yue. Only to protect.”

“When I brought Chang Dazhe back here,” said Jinyue, speaking of the foreign rapist from late August, “he asked me by what law. I know it was different, that he didn’t fall under the jurisdiction of the Council. I know that. But still—what is justice besides saving a man’s life? If we can maim a man like Chang Dazhe, then why did I have to stand by while a more innocent man was killed? An-Ge, it feels so wrong.”

Anjie hesitated.

At last, softly, “It is. But we cannot protect Guilin nor its people if we do not protect its laws. Or else, what is there to protect Guilin from us?”

“And if the law is wrong?”

“That is not for one man to decide.”

Jinyue closed his eyes, seeing the sentenced man’s flesh part to blade. Seeing his eyes, begging, _crane_ —crane, the guardian symbol of his home. Jinyue had known all this back at the square, and it was why his sword could not unsheathe. But only hearing his brother echo his thoughts did the guilt cease to suffocate. It merely lingered now in ugly tendrils.

“I’m sorry,” said Jinyue.

Anjie paused.

“It seems that people have taken a liking to apologizing to me these days. Why are you sorry?”

Jinyue shook his head. “It feels like I handed the decision off to you again.”

“You made the decision, Ah-Yue. And it was the right one.”

Jinyue peered at his brother. He was dressed lightly today, his hair loose, his robes simple. In the past ten years, it did not seem like anything other than Anjie’s eyes had aged. But that was a dangerous science, slowing his time at a heavy price—a price his brother no longer allowed to be paid, breaking centuries of precedence and sacrifice. _It is inhumane,_ he had said, _an_ _d even guardians deserve better._

Who was there to tell Anjie that he had made the right decision?

“Does your heart feel heavier when you assure me of that?” said Jinyue.

Anjie hesitated. Then he smiled.

“Does yours feel lighter, Ah-Yue? Let it be light. One day, it will have many more burdens to carry than mine.”

Jinyue wondered if it was true. Sighing, he listened to his brother and exhaled the weight from his chest. “Thank you, An-Ge.”

Anjie picked up his pen again. “You’re welcome.”

Jinyue stood up. He set away his zither. At the door, he glanced back at his brother, quietly writing beneath the calligraphy character hanging on the wall. _Duty._

“Good night, An-Ge.”

Anjie looked up.  “Good night, Ah-Yue.”

 

* * *

 

Like the tick of a clock, the door clicked softly shut.

Alone, Anjie laid his hands on the table and rolled the pen between his fingertips, absorbed in the smooth metal pressure. His gaze drifted toward the night garden, the autumn flowers silhouetted by moonlight. Eastern dahlia, marbled cyclamen, a whole gradient assortment of begonia—Aunt Baisun had begun planting these nine years ago, after their hard-earned peace drove a need to brighten the estate. Anjie loved the flowers. They were beautiful. Simple. Easy for man of little skill to transcribe onto paper.

He looked down at the parchment he’d torn and crumpled earlier. The parchment had loosened from its crumpling, revealing an idle cluster of begonia flowers inked into the corner. Anjie smoothed this corner. He traced his ever amateur lines for a moment before sighing and crumpling the parchment once more. This time, he tucked it inside his robes to discard properly.

Turning back to his personal records, he continued where he had left off. The next lines began: _Jinyue noted a Council execution for the distribution of Heavensbane. He seemed greatly troubled by the matter. I sat beneath the script of my forebearers and echoed their words to him. But I do not know what I would have done in his place…_

The pen scratched. The cicadas sang.

A tapping came on the door.

“Anjie.”

It was Ziyuan’s voice.

“Come in,” said Anjie.

The door slid open. Ziyuan appeared, dressed down in their darker night clothes, a folded paper in their hand. Ziyuan shut the door and walked to Anjie’s table. Ziyuan set the paper over Anjie’s unfinished entry and sat, eyes level as they spoke.

“Beiguo surrendered to Anzhou a few hours ago,” said Ziyuan. “The war is over. Quan Caihe has her continental empire.”

Anjie unfolded the paper, scanning the machine-printed words. It did not take him long to read, but his eyes lingered. The white parchment and black ink became the image of a snowing winter night, a rugged artist gazing half-robed out the frosted windows, a cup of wine in his hand, a bit of swell to his lips. Musheng looked at Anjie after something Anjie had said, his earthen eyes ever so sharp, ever so knowing. With a smile on his lips, Musheng had spoken of this Quan Caihe, who was nothing but a small usurper then.

_She was born to conquer mountains, just as you were born to protect them. And in time, Guilin will tempt her like a pinnacle…_

Anjie folded the paper. He handed it back to Ziyuan.

“Send a message to our cranes who are beyond Guilin. Tell them it is time to come home.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: The “an” in Anzhou and Anjie both use the character for peaceful/calm. Ironic, as it’ll turn out.


	8. Part II: The Greed of Dynasty | 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated on 6/14 with added exposition and minor conversation changes.

**Part II**

**THE GREED OF DYNASTY**

 

* * *

 

Quan Caihe leaned against the floral timber balustrade, breathing the night air of the northern mountains. Shanjing, capital of the newly surrendered kingdom of Beiguo, had not been touched by the gore of their war. Here the antique palace towered proud over the luxurious valley city, a beautiful mixture of natural greens and holograph night lanterns, of traditional architecture underlaid by hints of fibersteel. The rulers of Beiguo had lived in modest opulence, having both the advancements of modern civilization and the beauty of age-old natured. It was a shame the Beiguo lords had run like mice when the kingdom surrendered. Caihe would have liked to offer them a peaceful burial in this lovely place. 

Of course, on this continent there were lovelier lands. Legendary ones. Untouchable ones, shrouded in the myths of blood-stained ghosts. But for tonight, Caihe was satisfied with the balanced magnificence of Shanjing.

“Your Grace. Your generals are ready for you.”

She peered over her shoulder at the bowed soldier. This one had been wounded in the recent final battle. The artificial flesh of his right arm had been removed to keep it from rotting, revealing only scratched machinery beneath. Not uncommon after this campaign into the north: just an hour ago, Caihe had spotted another soldier on a crutch, a leg all metal, wire, and limp. At least they felt little pain.

“Thank you, Gulong. I’ll be there soon.”

The soldier bowed and left.

Caihe took a final look at the afterdusk skyline. Straightening the folds of her silk dress, she made her way to the private upper meeting hall of the palace. A jovial murmuring seeped through the half-opened doors. Upon Caihe’s entrance, someone’s laughed turned into a cough. Six men and a woman began to push out their seats and rise.

“No need,” said Caihe, waving a hand.

They had gathered in an atmospheric room, the pillars and the furniture all polished darkwood. A bonsai plant greened the corner; a monochrome mountain hologram sprawled the east wall, birds flitting scripted through the image. The solar lights, presented in clear lamps, mimicked the softness of fire. Warm shadows cast powerfully across the long table.

Caihe took her seat at the head of this table. She surveyed the table before she spoke.

“I called you all here tonight because there are some things that shouldn’t be said only in crowds.”

The seven waited. There had once been ten at the beginning of this great intercontinental war, filled with inevitable loss and sacrifice. From the coast of southern Yincheng below the millenia old Long River to the sprawling plateaus of the far west, they had waited like this for her every command. Perhaps now they expected the same—a new order. But it wasn’t for war that she had assembled them tonight. It was for immortality.

She met each pair of eyes.

“Thank you.”

A struck pause followed her weighted words. The generals glanced at each other—all except one, who seemed unsurprised. A lost, uncomfortable shifting began.

“Your Grace…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” said Caihe. “You’ve spoken more than enough through your actions. You’ve given me the unity of a whole continent.” Almost a whole continent. “It’s been a hundred and twenty-four years since we’ve had unity across the land. A decade ago, I couldn’t have dreamed of restoring it.” False. “It’s by your courage and faith that we’ve come this far.”

“It’s by your strength,” said her third general, appearing emotional. “Your Grace, we came this far because we followed you. Your steps paved the road. The honor of being a part of this journey—Your Grace, _we_ should be thanking _you_.”

The table rippled with agreement.

Caihe smiled. They had forgotten that three months ago, two of them had been on the verge of mutiny. But victory was a powerful medicine indeed.  

“I’ve received your gratitude a hundred fold by your blood and your sweat. Now it’s time for me to give you my gratitude. When we return to the capital, you’ll have the expected rewards and more. But you deserve more than that.

“You know that I don’t have family anymore. That the Quan name was betrayed and slaughtered many years ago. But we stand at the birth of a true dynasty—as great as the Quan of old and the Tianxin Emperors before them. I’ve no intention of raising the dynasty alone. So I’d like to offer each of you and your children the Quan name.”       

Like she’d slapped the moon down before them, the generals balked.

“Don’t tell me your answer tonight,” said Caihe. “I’ll hear it when we’ve returned to the capital. But there are a few other things as well. General Yan.”

“Your Grace?” said an older bearded man, his voice booming even in its polite reservation. He had arrived in the north only a week ago, bringing his forces from the conquered western kingdom of Xijia to reinforce the final push against northern Beiguo.   

“You know the west kingdom well,” said Caihe, “and we couldn’t have Xijia without you. Whether you join my family or not, I’d like to appoint you State Regent of Xijia. Can I expect to have your answer by the time we return to Anzhou?”

The man bowed his head and clasped his hands. “Your Grace, you may have it now. It would be my greatest honor.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Caihe turned to the only other woman at the table. “General Wei.”

“Your Grace,” said the woman, inclining her head. She had led the critical siege of last standing northern stronghold. She had done it alone too, without relying on specific orders or reinforcements.

“Beiguo would do well under your oversight.”

The woman clasped her hands and bowed her head lower yet. “It would be my honor.”

“And General Jun.”    

She faced the one man who had not stirred at the offer of the Quan name. He sat at the shadowed end of the table, scruff in appearance tonight. Stubble and lazily bunned hair, the loose locks curling with uncanny disregard. His one eye drifted over now, soft and sharp—and surprised.

“Your Grace,” he said.  

“This war would have dragged on another decade without your insights on the enemy,” said Caihe. “You may have started a foreigner, but you’ve served us faithfully for five years. And no one can deny your talent. I think it’s time we restore to the court a position suitable for your skills.” She arched an eyebrow. “General Jun, I’d like to appoint you Imperial Chief of Intelligence.”  

The man paused. Said, “I’m honored. I’ll think on it as you wish, Your Grace.”

The rest of the room shared glances, quiet reservation. Caihe only smiled.

“Then that is all. Please consider my offers, generals. And rest well tonight.”

The generals bade their respectful farewells and left. Only the last man she’d addressed remained in his shadowed seat.

When the doors had shut on the two of them, Caihe leaned back in her chair and waited for the man to speak.

“It’s a bold move,” he said eventually.

“What is?”

He glanced her way. “To elevate a traitor.”

“Are you one still?”

He smiled. “I have a history, no? You wouldn’t have Beiguo and Xijia’s secrets otherwise.”

Caihe chuckled, rising. She skimmed her fingertips along the polished darkwood table as she approached her company. At his side, she pulled away the adjacent chair and leaned against the table. The skirt of her dress brushed the fabric of his trousers.

She gazed down at the general. He was a rugged fellow, handsome when his face turned leftward. Handsome to some people even when he didn’t turn, but that part of his face was marred with an old, deep scar that halved his eyebrow and crossed the sealed hollow where an eye used to be. He scared children with that face, even when he smiled, even though his smile was a soft one. And he was always smiling too. The damaged left corner of his lips never lifted as high as the right. Perpetually crooked.   

They say that those who never frown can never be trusted.

Quan Caihe mirrored his smile, but with more grace and symmetry.

“It’s true,” she said. “A man like you is a gamble wherever he goes.” Yulai, Guilin, Xijia, Beiguo—he had certainly gone many places, unashamed to lay that slithery history before her. “And so far, you’ve played them all. Quite brutally too, no?”

“I have.”

No pride, no guilt. It was a matter of fact.

Pleased, as ever she was by his ungilded talent, Caihe reached for the old jade pendant at her general’s collar. A twined dragon, detailed to the scales and billowing mane. She had never seen him without it. Rubbing it now with the man so compliantly enduring, she felt a satisfying sense of possession.    

“It’s pretty. May I have it?”

“With all due respect, Your Grace, no.”

She dropped the pendant and laughed. When the pleasure had simmered, she propped a foot on his chair, between his legs, and leaned forward.

“The dragon is the champion of the gods,” said Caihe. “Of dynasty and the epitome of power. Is that what you are after? Betraying nation after nation. And yet this pretty pendant of yours seems more like an aesthetic than any real desire.” She cocked her head. “What is it that you really want, Jun Musheng?”

“Not much, Your Grace. To live a little longer, I suppose.”

“A bold lie. Everybody wants something.”

He was quiet, his one eye unwavering.

At last he smiled, that eye half-lidding. “One only then, Your Grace. The integrity of peace.”

“The integrity of peace?”

A permanence, he likely meant. A noble thing to wish for—and nearly appropriate. The windlike, untethered intensity of this man had always seemed bound for something as beautiful as a noble wish. But among the lust of insatiable men, an everlasting peace could never be.

Caihe laughed. “I see. Your dream is an impossible one, so you live chasing its mirage. Something like that?”

“You could say so.”

Caihe raised an eyebrow.

“I had you pegged for practical. You’re a mysterious man after all.”

“And yet you want me to handle the new empire’s secrets. Wouldn’t you be wary of what a mysterious man might do with those secrets, Your Grace?”

“Naturally. But you stand at the pinnacle of this continent now.” She wrapped her hands around the arms of his chair. Her hair fell over her shoulders, the soft ends brushing his chest. “What could you do next, Musheng? Kill me? Take the regency?” She lifted her fingers to his halved eyebrow, skimming the soft hollow beneath, the scarred flesh. “But you don’t have the eyes of an emperor, General. There is no lust in them. Your dream might be impossible, but in my empire, you can find the mirage you’ve been chasing. Peace at last, and perhaps for centuries to come.”

“At last?” he said.

Caihe withdrew.

“You’re right. I misspoke. The continent’s not whole yet.”

Musheng lifted his good eyebrow. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Your Grace. As beautiful a trophy as Guilin is, that place is guarded by a merciless god. He’ll damn you if you cross his land with ill intentions.”

“Oh? You sound scared.”

“For good reason. If you are going to invade Guilin, I’m afraid I can’t follow.”

Caihe cocked her head.

“Did he take your eye?”

Musheng didn’t say anything.

“And only an eye,” she said then, smiling. “A pitiful damnation. Or was it that you had the skill to escape his wrath?”

“It was luck,” said Musheng, “and you won’t have it, Your Grace.”

“But I have you.”

She pushed off the table and walked around his chair. Behind it, she smoothed the wrinkles of his autumn jacket. She rested her hands on his shoulders, feeling them tense. Kneaded those muscles, hovering in their intimate space.

“Don’t you want revenge for your eye, Musheng? Don’t you want to see this merciless god again? To see him mortal, and to take from him what precious things he took from you?”

A breath escaped his throat. A soft, strange sound.

Caihe pressed her lips to his ear.

“Follow me there. Lend me your insight again. I’ll bring that god to your feet, and you can do to him whatever your heart desires. And when we are done, I’ll give you peace. I’ll give you as much of your dream as this world can make possible.”

Musheng closed his eye.

Caihe slipped her fingers through his hair and pulled his head back. She kissed his mouth, thrilled by the soft, then strong, then desperate reciprocation.

When they parted, and his eye flickered open. A rich, dilated black. She gazed down at him.

“Our brilliance is greater than myths and gods. Believe in me, Jun Musheng. The legends of Guilin will become mortal again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: The “jie” in Anjie may in certain contexts mean integrity.


	9. The Greed of Dynasty | 7

The landscape of the central southwest passed in rolling fields beyond the train window, a softer image than the earlier city clusters of the journey. Xi Mona of House Guan, returning home after eight years of academia in the southern capital, felt her modern-life anxiety melt away like the fibersteel and holotech imagery. It was only a temporary peace—Mona had no illusions about why Anjie had called them home at this time—but still, she could feel her pulse in her throat at the anticipation of being  _ home _ .

The last time she had seen the beautiful valley was when Yulai had invaded with their army. Back then, Mona stayed only long enough to fight, cry, and bury the family and friends she had not seen in years. It was, as everything of House Guan, a matter of duty: she lived to be a pair of external eyes, researching contemporary medicine in a city university, eating processed nutrients and wearing synthetic fashion, tracking the mundane advancements of the ever-changing external world. Some days her life was pleasant. Some days it simply was. Most days, Guilin felt like a distant dream stirred away by the routine of her instant morning coffee.

When she received the message on her comm tablet, it had felt like waking up. Now the dream was Yincheng, that sprawling port city where her cramped apartment and cat and coffee machine waited. It was a mistake, really; she should have given the cat away. There was no saying when she would be returning to that life again. 

In the history of Guilin, the House only called their outside cranes home for three reasons: the death of the First Lord, the naming of a new one, and the imminence of war. Anjie had given the order, which meant this was about the last of the three. The threat, no doubt, came from Anzhou. 

Mona had moved to the Anzhou capital of Yincheng shortly after the ruling Hua family had been overthrown by Quan Caihe and her supporters. She had seen Quan Caihe at city celebrations, a charming and extraordinary woman by the look of her eyes and the poise of her posture alone. The propaganda spun a tale of a heroic return from the ashes, for the Quan family had once ruled Anzhou—and over a century ago, ruled the whole continent. Mona had thought that winning this war of unification would satisfy the empress-regent, but it seemed that the House had different premonitions. 

If they were right, it would not be the first time the Quans attempted to take Guilin. Back in 365, the rising Quans had attempted to claim the autonomous traditional valley and met their ghost-like cranes. That was the birth of the legend: House Guan formed in the aftermath of that horrific battle, and the valley was renamed Guilin—the Ghost Forest—by the external states. Few invasions had occurred since, but each time, House Guan had stood victorious. 

Mona hoped they would not have to add another marker for the histories. Their enemy felt different this time. And their house, for better or for worse, was far weaker than the titanium-hearted Guan of old.

Early afternoon, the train docked at the nearest station to Guilin. From there Mona hitched a half-hour ride to the small town of Duling, and from there, she arranged a trip with a merchant heading south into Guilin scheduled for the next day. The merchant was jovial about it, declaring he had made much bank the last week from the returning guardians. Mona, he said, was the ninth. Which meant that she was among the last, if not  _ the  _ last. Having had some matters to wrap up in the city, she’d delayed her return by about a week since receiving the message.  

The next morning, the Duling merchant took her south on a large truck of produce and wares. It was a four hour drive to the valley region, crossing uninhabited fields and barren flatlands. The appearance of rich vivid greens marked their approach. 

He dropped her off on the outskirts of Beicheng, northmost town of the little valley province. The Council guards on duty checked him in for his business and allowed Mona to pass after seeing her emblemed sword. That thing had drawn quite a bit of attention on her trip, had been hidden away in her apartment for years. Walking down the Beicheng roads with her hand on the hilt, she could almost feel the metal sing in homecoming.

It was a four hour hike from Beicheng to the Guan estate. Having missed the Guilin landscape viscerally and not knowing when she would next have this luxury, Mona walked. Time rewound by centuries, immersed in a land so hauntingly beautiful in its unexploited vulnerability. Too soon, and years late, she arrived at the road leading to the Rizhai township, which homed Guilinhe village and the Guan estate on its southern outskirts. 

On this road she stopped. It was a wide dirt path, the soil marked by wheels and steps, simple and gracious. The standalone archway to Rizhai stood proudly down the road, a wood and stone construct that was older than their era, reinforced through the centuries. Past it was the first village, the lush trees, the valley mountains in the background. The welcome of home. 

Breathing deeply, Mona walked on.

By the time she reached the estate, it was mid-afternoon. The first to greet her were the children, finished with school and playing ball in the yard. So much bigger than she remembered them—nearly unfamiliar. The oldest boy was the only one who recognized her, his eyes glittering as he dropped the ball.

“Auntie Mona!”

She smiled at the boy. “Look at you. I can barely recognize you. And the rest of you too! Is that Ruotian?”

A prim girl weaving under the tree stood up and bowed her head. “It’s me, Auntie Mona.” 

“And you’ve picked up manners too!” 

The girl blushed. Mona laughed. In her peripheral, a small figure dropped out of the plum tree—a young girl with wild hair cropped at her jaw and a vivid fruit in her mouth, purple juice dripping down the corners. She took the fruit out of her mouth and said, “You’re really late.” 

“And who’s this little wildling?” said Mona, having a guess. 

The girl grinned. “I’m Lenglei.” 

“Hey!” said a boy, appearing offended. 

The girl giggled. 

“She’s Wenbo,” said Ruotian. 

Mona’s smile softened, watching the child tease the boy named Lenglei. Last Mona had seen the girl, she was a year old and without parents. Today her little spirit was practically brimming with light.

“You want a plum?” said Wenbo, fishing one out of her pocket and looking at Mona.

Mona stretched out a hand. Wenbo tossed the plum. “Thanks.” 

“You gotta hide it though. Jin-Ge says I’m supposed to leave the tree alone.” 

Mona laughed. “Alright, kid. I’ll hide it.” She pocketed the plum and lifted a hand to wave at the children. “You kids have fun with your ball game. Save me a spot next time, okay?” 

“Where are you going?” said Wenbo. 

Mona peeked over her shoulder. “To check in with your big brother.”

Wenbo made a face.

“You’re really late,” she said, echoing her words from earlier. “He left Guilin this morning.”   

* * *

 

The letter arrived at dinnertime, delivered to Ziyuan by a northtown guard who said an imperial courier had come in person. The envelope, a thick and refined parchment, carried the old, outdated emblem of the once-imperial Quan. Addressed to the First Lord of House Guan, it went sealed to Anjie’s hands. 

The dining room was quiet while Anjie read the contents. Ziyuan, the three younger Guan siblings, and their aunt Baisun waited, only the ten year old Wenbo shifting in unsettled confusion. A soft hiccup from the child interrupted the silence. 

Ziyuan had been watching Anjie, whose characteristic calm belied a resigned grimness. At Wenbo’s hiccup, Anjie glanced at her. To all but Ziyuan, that fade of his features to a warm resolve would have been imperceptible. Anjie’s gaze lingered on his sister for a moment. When the moment was gone, he handed the paper from the envelope to Ziyuan, who scanned it while Anjie spoke. 

“The Quan Empress is holding an inaugural dinner for her new empire,” he said. “She invites me to attend.” 

_...and to discuss the future between our two sovereignties _ , the letter read. 

“What? She can’t actually expect you to go,” said Wenzhan. 

Ziyuan folded the paper and tucked it back inside the envelope. In their peripheral, Jinyue’s sharp gaze followed their movement.

“When is it?” said Jinyue. 

“In three days,” said Anjie. 

A pause.

“Ignore it,” said Wenzhan.

“He’s right,” said Jinyue. “When has House Guan ever involved ourselves with outside affairs? Quan Caihe knows this. It’s not just an invitation to dinner, An-Ge. It has to be political.” 

Anjie didn’t respond immediately. At the opposing head of the table, the mute aunt Baisun resumed eating, the porcelain clicks of her chopsticks accentuating the silence. 

“Ah-Yue,” said Anjie eventually, “I’ll leave the household affairs to you for a time.” 

Wenzhan slapped the table and bolted upright. “You can’t go. At worst, it’s a trap—”

“And Guilin needs you here,” said Jinyue, nearly matching Wenzhan’s rebellious tone. “The First Guardian has never left the valley. If anything happens while you’re not here—if anything happens to  _ you  _ out there—” 

Anjie frowned and opened his mouth. His brothers fell silent, but the words visibly boiled at their lips.

“It is not a trap,” he said. “Only a first move.” 

“Don’t play her game,” said Jinyue. 

Wenbo tugged at Ziyuan’s sleeve. Whispered, “What game?” Ziyuan smiled for the little girl and pressed a finger to their lips, indicating quiet. 

“She can start the game,” said Anjie, “but that does not make it hers.”

“Still—”

“That’s enough, Ah-Yue. The dinner table is not a place for arguments. We can talk about this later.”

Later, Ziyuan gave the brothers their private space. In the adjacent tearoom, Ziyuan sat beneath the archway to the garden, their back to the solar room lights. While the strained, inaudible words underlaid the background, Ziyuan pulled the letter out of their shirt and unfolded it. Ziyuan traced the fine lettering, handwritten with rich ink. 

Quan Caihe. Her name had drifted into this household well before she had acquired the regency of Anzhou, from the lips of a man who saw too much and showed too little. But Ziyuan could not deny that they had admired the traitorous Jun Musheng—feared him, even. From the very beginning, Ziyuan had felt the dangerous viper beneath the soft charm, the demeanor of someone who was not afraid of anything, who elevated himself above everything. And even such a man had spoken about Quan Caihe with an apprehensive respect.

_ Guilin won’t last forever _ , he had said.  _ Nothing does.  _

Ziyuan crumpled the letter in their hand and tightened their jaw. It was true that nothing in this world lasted forever. But so long as the Guan siblings called this home, Anjie would never let harm come to Guilin. And so long as Ziyuan lived, they would never let Anjie shoulder that conviction alone. 

At last the conversation of the brothers came to an end. The door opened and Jinyue and Wenzhan walked out, neither looking happy, but neither looking quite as fiery as they had been at the dinner table. They bade Ziyuan a good night and left. 

Anjie appeared next, pulling a ribbon out of his hair. The half-tie he had been wearing loosened, spilling over his shoulders. He scratched the back of his head, looking relieved as he sat down beside Ziyuan. 

“How did you talk them down?” said Ziyuan. 

“Well,” said Anjie, smiling, “I am their older brother, no? I remember that you once tried to sell the lotus fairy to Lanlun and she avoided the ponds for years.” 

Ziyuan laughed. “Fair. Should it worry me that you compare persuading your brothers to selling a fairytale?”  

“It’s nothing so ridiculous.”

Ziyuan nodded, their laugh-spread grin fading to a half-smile. “Just a little bit, then?” 

Anjie leaned back on his arms and hummed, gazing at the night garden. A soft affirmative. 

Of course, the coming risk was not so light that the younger Guan brothers would be tame if they understood the scope. In the past, no First Lord would have considered responding to this invitation—at best it was not necessary, and at worst it was a sign of weakness to compromise their long-standing indifference on external affairs. Quan Caihe might not even be expecting Anjie to attend. But circumstances had changed since the Yulai invasion had cost them so many copper-eyed cranes. In particular, circumstances had changed since Anjie had ended the practice of their third tier modifications. 

The legends of the cranes were only legends because of their science. Inherited from old nobility, the techniques of their engineering exceeded the current modern capabilities by centuries. The warriors of House Guan underwent the first tier at birth, and most survived with a fine-tuned nervous system, a forceful immune system, and enhanced regeneration. They underwent the second tier at adolescence—or if they had not been born with House Guan, like the Su family, they underwent a variant of these two tiers upon joining the household. Warriors like Wenzhan and Jinyue were endowed with daunting endurance and strength, lethal reaction time. But the third tier could only be performed on a fully matured body, which was then systematically recreated from the marrow to the flesh. A three month, torturous process that many did not survive. 

Ziyuan remembered vividly when Anjie had undergone the remaking. He went under first, three months before they began on his sister Liyun, because only one operation could be performed at a time. Liyun had insisted that Anjie go first because she hadn’t wanted her brother to endure the wracking fear and uncertainty in that wait period. Anjie took another month to recover, and in that time, Liyun passed under the operation knife. 

Liyun was not the last person he’d loved to die to their merciless duty. And for better or for worse, Anjie was not going to let the same thing happen to his little brothers and sister. But the difference between a crane with copper eyes and a crane with human eyes was simply incomparable, and their coppers were barely a quarter of the historical minimum. If Quan Caihe struck now, bottling Guilin’s entry points with her full army, there would no doubt be a rupture somewhere that not even Anjie could dam. 

Anjie was trying to avoid an outright war, or at least preempt it. But Ziyuan could not say what waited in the new empire capital, or what came after.

As if hearing Ziyuan’s thoughts, Anjie said, “Quan Caihe will not touch Guilin without a declaration and at least the illusion of a cause. Or at least this is what I believe. Her rise to power has been defined by this image of righteousness, and Guilin has been an autonomous legend for too long. So she will need a story for the public if she is to try to claim our land.” 

“It’s easy to spin tales,” said Ziyuan.

“Yes,” said Anjie, “and easier if we appear at this celebration with words and actions for her to distort.” 

“Then why are you going?”

“Because I believe she will find a way to spin that tale regardless. And this may be our best chance to persuade her otherwise.”

Ziyuan blinked. “Persuade? You don’t mean negotiate?”

“That depends.” Anjie paused. His fingers drifted to the ends of his hair, perhaps unconsciously toying with the locks. “Somebody once told me that men prefer to be governed rather than killed. That it’s only pride that drives us to leave our children orphaned, when the wiser course is often to buy peace.” 

“You’re not thinking of letting her imperialize Guilin?” 

A silence, heavy.

Anjie moved his hand away from his hair and smoothed the folds of his robes. 

“No,” he said. “I could not betray our centuries of sacrifice like that.”

Ziyuan narrowed their eyes. Despite the straight arch of Anjie’s back, the final resolve in his tone, he had perhaps truly considered it for a moment. 

“You’re worried about Jinyue and Wenzhan,” said Ziyuan. 

Anjie looked at the black grass. 

Of course he would be worried. Jinyue and Wenzhan had been too young to participate in the fight against Yulai. But a war now meant they were expected to be at the front lines, and not even Anjie could protect them from that duty if he was to lead this house. 

“I will do what needs to be done to protect the integrity of the valley, and my family. For now, it means making an appearance.” He paused. “Quan Caihe is driven by ambition. But maybe she can be reasoned with.” 

“You’re optimistic,” said Ziyuan, shaking their head. 

“I have to be.” Anjie looked at Ziyuan. “Come with me?” 

Ziyuan sighed. They put a hand over Anjie’s, gripping it tight for a moment. 

“I’m with you anywhere. So don’t get me killed, Anjie.”

 

* * *

 

The day after next, Anjie fastened the synthetic buttons of a light collared shirt in a public bathroom, watching his new appearance in the wall mirror. They had left Guilin before dawn to avoid startling the province people, and seven hours later in the train station town, they had purchased appropriate modern attire for the trip. Prim black trousers, thin bodied shirt, light suit jacket. Simple belt, no holster. Their swords stayed home, too obtrusive and probably unnecessary. Quan Caihe was a proud new empress, after all—Anjie doubted she would do anything overtly hostile while they were in her capital on her invitation. 

When he was done with his shirt, Anjie braided his hair and tucked it in a tight knot. A foreign man stared back from the mirror afterward, something from an odd dream. Behind Anjie, another man entering the bathroom glanced at this foreign reflection, glanced away, and did a double take. Anjie looked away from the mirror, hiding his strange copper eyes. He collected his robes and went to find Ziyuan.

A challenge at first. Ziyuan was at the boarding platform, facing away from the bathrooms. Anjie picked them out by their neat, chin-length hair and their suitcase. Ziyuan seemed to sense his approach and turned as Anjie reached. 

“Oh,” they said, glancing over Anjie. “That’s very odd.” 

Anjie smiled. “Likewise.” 

Ziyuan stood up and peered more intently at Anjie, a frown drawing their brow. After a moment, Ziyuan hummed. They reached over and undid the top button of Anjie’s shirt. 

“It looked stuffy,” said Ziyuan. 

Now Anjie frowned. 

Ziyuan cocked their head leftward. “The man over there wears it like this. It looks better.”

“Are we on a fashion tour now?” 

Ziyuan chuckled. “Someone with a face and air like yours will stand out for the wrong reasons if he’s not fashionable. I’m sure we’re already quite lacking in that department, so let’s do what we can.”

Anjie hesitated.

“Thank you, Ziyuan,” he said, not about the button. 

Ziyuan only smiled knowingly. 

They boarded the train a half-hour later. It was an hour’s ride to the nearest metropolis, where they ate a meal and then switched to the advanced interregional bulletrail. The holographic lights and rivulets of distinct fashion were nearly suffocating. But not so much because of the hectic, unfamiliar clutter. 

In Anjie’s thirty three years, he had only left Guilin three times, and twice had been with Musheng. Once, the last time, they came all the way to this same metropolitan city. It would be a lie to say he did not remember that time like a ghost wound now. 

_ Foolish _ .  _ It’s been a decade. _

Still, he closed his eyes when they were secured in their private rail compartment. Moments later, he was asleep, restlessly. 

Late night, they arrived in the sprawling port city of Yincheng, capital of Anzhou. The city was not quite like the historical images of towering metropolises, for those places had been devastated by the wars of the Modern Era. Building over their ashes hadn’t been a nostalgic affair. In their Ashless Era, that exorbitant industrialization was condemned. Even a place that embodied modern advancement like Yincheng was tame in its structure: no exorbitant shows of synthetic building materials, no skyscrapers, no grossly overpopulated commercial centers. The architecture mimicked tradition, for the most part.  

But still, it was a stark contrast to Guilin. At this hour, that soft valley would be silent and lightless but for the moon and the street lamps. Yincheng appeared to be as awake as anything could be. Most of the stars had disappeared from the sky, eaten by the pollution of busy night lights. People undulated the landscape in fashion just as bright and varied, the dangle of a microchip earring here, the headband of a traditional weave there. Below the bridge overlooking a wide river hung familiar paper lanterns; below those, a row boat carried two apparent tourists with flashing midnight cameras. It felt that more went on in a single street of Yincheng than in an entire town of Guilin. 

Somehow, Anjie and Ziyuan made it through the onslaught. They checked in at a hotel for the night, the walls clean polished marble, the lobby sporting a massive fish tank with beautiful koi. Sleeping was discomfiting when the atmosphere was so foreign, but somehow, they managed it.

The next day, September 24th, was the evening of the imperial celebration. Anjie and Ziyuan spent the day wandering the city, which was abuzz with chatter about the dining event and the attending nobility. The waiter who served their lunch gushed about the peace coming to the continent at last— _ the Second Era! _ —and proclaimed that the empress to be celebrated tonight was an appointee of the heavens. This waiter seemed to have forgotten that most of the turmoil in the last half-century, at least for Anzhou, had been caused by Quan Caihe’s relentless rise to power.

“It’s fate,” said another woman that Ziyuan had struck up a conversation with. “You only need to take one look at her to know it.” 

So, half past five, they made preparations to head over to the palace. Leaving the hotel entrance, a modestly-dressed woman approached them and bowed her head. 

“Lord Guan, I presume?” 

A slick cold ran down Anjie’s spine. He lifted an eyebrow calmly. “And you?” 

The woman lowered her head further. “Only an escort of the imperial court, my lord.”

“How did you find us?”

The woman looked up and smiled. “We are not as legendary as Guilin, but Yincheng has its own cleverness. Come this way, my lords. I will take you to the palace.”  

She led them to a modern black vehicle, which sped through the city with the soft background music of traditional zithers. Perhaps a deliberate choice. Anjie recognized the second piece, and the third. By the fourth, they pulled into the drive of a lush, gardened estate. No security guards—merely the occasional gate or automated monitor post, blinking as their vehicle passed. Aside from this, the modernized clutter of the city fell away to natural greens and a quiet peace, a sprawling pond. Far in the distance, a towering traditional palace could be seen. It took some minutes for the vehicle to reach the second entrance gate to the palace itself. Giant stone lions guarded the pillars. 

Their vehicle was not the only one entering the gated palace courtyard. Ahead, a car stopped before wide stone steps to drop off its passengers—three garbed men and women, and a fourth driver. These four ascended the steps to the tall, red entry gates of the main building. The uniformed driver spoke with the gate guard. When their own vehicle parked and Anjie stepped out, that gate guard struck the ground with a heavy staff. 

“Announcing the Lord and Ladies Jing, provincial regents of Dongchuan!” 

The three lords and ladies Jing entered beneath the towering archway. Through this archway drifted a stir of polite chatter, sweet aromas, and the poised accent of live classical music. 

“This way, my lords,” said their escort-driver.

In Anjie’s peripheral, Ziyuan made a peeved face at the address. Anjie smiled at them, then smoothed the sleeves of his new suit. He followed their escort up the steps, surveying the building interior as the escort spoke to the guard. What appeared to be a massive gathering hall had been filled with gold-clothed tables for the meal, and nearly all of these tables were already seated. Light dining had begun, waiters ferrying carts of appetizers for the attendees. 

The invitation had said  _ six o’clock _ . Anjie had opted to skip the social mingling, and it was twenty minutes past the hour. A choice with a cost: now, a full audience was present to hear the staff strike the ground. 

“Announcing the First Lord Guan, of the Guardian House of Guilin!” 

Ziyuan, unmentioned, made a noise in their throat. “That is almost as terrible as being misgendered.” 

A comment to fill the sudden silence. The hush of what must have been at least a thousand people was heavy—a thousand witnesses to the moment Anjie shattered House Guan’s untouchable aura of lofty indifference. He thought of Wenbo crawling upright from the training room floor, a fierce light in her eyes as she said,  _ one day _ . 

“Welcome, my lord.” A new escort bowed. “This way, please.”

They followed the escort to the front end of this hall. In the struck silence, it felt like a very long walk. An empty table waited near the elevated dais, ringed by four empty seats. One for Anjie, another for Ziyuan. Perhaps Quan Caihe truly intended for a talk over this public dinner.  

Before they reached this table, a strange feeling swept Anjie’s skin. Like wind, but the room was windless. He turned in its direction. 

There was another table by the front, seated by men and women bearing the Quan emblem. These men and women started at his glance—and yet none of them seemed peculiar to Anjie. His gaze hovered on a single empty chair, pushed out awkwardly. A half-empty wineglass laid before it, the red liquid still trembling.  

Anjie looked around. There was only the rich imperial decor and the overbearing attention. 

“What is it?” said Ziyuan.

Anjie shook his head. In his peripheral, the appetizer cart rolled toward their waiting seats. “Let’s have something to eat. I imagine the main course will be quite difficult to swallow.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: Yincheng, capital of Anzhou and now capital of the new Quan Empire, is present-day Shanghai - yin for silver and cheng for city.


	10. The Greed of Dynasty | 8

For the propriety of status, Quan Caihe kept to her private gardens until all the guests had arrived. A messenger informed her of this; with two guards at her back, she made her way toward the great palace hall where the dinner was to take place. She was not one for grand gestures—the excess of pomp, she believed, was an indicator of insecurities—but she respected the formalities that must take place for a woman to enforce her status. So the inaugural event for the noble houses was only a simple meal, which would be preceded by a simple speech. From the port of Yincheng to the far west plateaus of Mosanguo, the nobility of the continent would bear witness to her dynastic rebirth in all its unembellished elegance.

Her heart sped beneath the golden dragon of her emblemed robes. These coming moments would be written into history as the second rising of her family name. To have absolute control over the script of that history—it was as intoxicating as the strongest liquor. The thrill laced her nerves. Absorbed her thoughts, revising for the thousandth time the words that would come from her lips tonight.

She almost didn’t notice the shadow at the end of the open walkway.

“General Jun?”

The man was leaning against the corridor rail. Not quite facing the open gardens—his head hung in his hands, his body hunched. A rare sight, and oddly stirring.

Jun Musheng righted himself at her voice. He lowered his head. “Your Grace.”

Caihe gestured for her guards to wait. Alone, she approached her general in the dim-lit walkway.

“What brings you out here, General?”

She had a faint idea.

Musheng slipped his hands into his pockets. “I needed to breathe, Your Grace.”

“Well, are you finished breathing? You have an appearance to make tonight.”

“It might be wiser if I didn’t. I’m not feeling very well, and I would hate to—”

Irritated, Caihe stepped into his intimate space. She could smell the wine and sweat, and a sweet heat like a fever. She slid a hand beneath his jacket, over his heart. The pulse was still thunderous.

She murmured, “That frightening, is he?”

Musheng turned his face away. “It’s been a while, Your Grace.”

Her fingers curled around fabric. She pulled him forcefully down until she could speak over his lips.

“Why have you anything to be afraid of, Jun Musheng? You are in my court. You stand behind me now. You survived him when you were alone, Musheng. And now that you are not, it’s _he_ who must try to survive you.”

When Musheng did not respond, Caihe narrowed her eyes.

“Unless it isn’t fear.”

He shook his head, a smooth motion. “Your Grace, you’ll be meeting him for the first time tonight. But I was with him for six years. You can’t simplify what I feel to a word.”

Caihe released the general. “So it isn’t fear?”

“It’s nothing pleasant,” said Musheng. “I don’t want to be near him.”

She sighed and crossed her arms. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. You’re a part of the game, Musheng. You can’t expect me to play with a missing piece—a general, no less.”

“Your general might cost you more—”

“Enough. Compose yourself, _Quan_ Musheng. You enter the hall with me.”

She turned around before he could protest again. After a pause, his footsteps followed.

Upon reaching the great hall, the guard declared her entrance with three forceful strikes of his staff.

“Announcing the Imperial Quan Caihe, Regent of the New Empire!”

The audience fell hush. Caihe entered from the dais end, her eyes sweeping the hall graciously. A thousand carefully selected nobles were in attendance tonight, their faces accentuated by the atmospheric lights. She maintained a tactful assessment, giving the higher ranked tables their due of her eyeshare. But it was that one by the front which lured her burning curiosity.

No images existed of the guardians of Guilin. Only spoken legends of ghosts, gods, and the great Red Crane.

He was easy to distinguish from the two at the table. Both of them were poised, suited, wearing no trace of excessive age on deeply matured faces. But _he_ possessed an air, the iron-glass air that came with being deified. Iron because it was daunting—glass because it was fragile, as all inhuman expectations were when they were laid upon humans. And Quan Caihe believed that no matter what science, the man who gazed back at her with was human.

His metallic eyes lidded softly. For a man—no, for a human—he was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that rugged artists would dream to lay onto their parchment.

Perhaps, she thought suddenly, it wasn’t fear at all.

Caihe glanced back at Musheng. That man had entered the hall with her, as instructed. His singular eye met hers briefly before he went to retake his seat with the other generals. He did not look leftward where the Guilin guardians sat.

Caihe turned back at the Lord Guan, who was no longer looking at her. She would have liked to dissect that expression, but she had reached the center of this dais, and an audience waited. A dynasty did.

Spreading her arms, the new empress said, “Welcome, my lords and ladies, to the Imperial Capital.”

 

* * *

 

They had pierced Anjie’s lungs before with hooked steel, and it had felt something like this.

The speech of the empress did not reach his ears, smothered by the drumming of his heart. This was a curious condition—that he, looking upon the face of Jun Musheng, still retained a heart to beat. Had this man not ripped it out, left a gaping hole in its place nine years ago? Was he not finished torturing Anjie? Why was he _here_?

But he was here. He was here, that same bold profile, the rough stubble and wild hair, the calluses along his fingers, the little crook in his nose. The hollow in his eye, old now and dry. The white scar tissue dragged along the left side of his face, a ghostly horror. Anjie felt so much pain in his chest that his vision flickered.

Ziyuan touched his arm. Anjie pulled away. He forced his eyes to Quan Caihe.

But nothing about the woman processed. Nothing when she looked his way and said _the honored attendance._ Nothing when she named her generals, declared the new regents of Beiguo and Xijia.

Nothing, until she gestured toward Musheng.

“...and it could not have been possible without this man. Arise, Quan Musheng.”

Anjie looked at the dais floor.

“You came to me five years ago and gave me your unreserved faith. Your dedication has been matchless, and your skill deserves the highest recognition. Quan Musheng,  it is with honor that I hereby name you the Third Quan Imperial Chief.”

 _Your unreserved faith_.

Anjie lifted his eyes. He looked at Musheng. Quan Musheng. The Quans scripted their family title with the traditional character for power. Truly a fitting name for a man whose heart had always been coated with ambition. Ziyuan had warned him of it, and Anjie had believed the two of them had changed, together. Believed those sweet promises murmured between the kisses. How wrong he had been. This man finally stood atop the peak, an imperial chief, and aloof, he gazed down at Anjie.

But not merely Anjie—Guan Anjie. He shared that name with precious others.  

Jinyue. Wenzhan. Wenbo.

_Be well, First Guardian._

Anjie lifted his chin. He lifted his hands and clapped with the rest of the hall.

Musheng looked away.

The empress resumed her speech. Her new chief took his seat. Anjie picked up the wineglass on the table and sipped. He did not feel the liquid in his throat, but he did not feel any tremble in his fingers either. It was a decent compromise.

Quan Caihe declared upon the end of her speech that the coming meal was to be the forge of new friendships. She had invited houses from across the continent, and it was a hall of tamed enemies. Friendship was an appropriate sentiment to close on. An ironic sentiment when she came to sit across from Anjie. With a peripheral gesture of her fingers, a shadow followed her beckon. Musheng.

Because Anjie took deliberate care to see only the empress, he noted that the rumors of the city were well-founded. She carried herself in the manner of a born ruler, and her eyes belied sharpness and clarity not unlike that of her new imperial chief. Anjie had expected as much, that her drive and her confidence would make any peace difficult to bargain. But he had come to the capital believing he had a chance. Now, with Musheng among her court, this hope was dashed away.

Musheng, who knew the secrets of Guilin. Musheng who had been invited to sit with them like old friends, who had surely informed Quan Caihe of his past connection to the valley. With his knowledge, Quan Caihe would believe herself infallible. And perhaps she truly was, for House Guan had barely survived the weaker Yulai.

Musheng took the seat to Anjie’s left. The cologned scent of the city, so foreign, threaded through a soft, familiar musk. Odd that smell could dredge up this feeling of betrayal.    

“My lord Guan,” said Quan Caihe, addressing Anjie first. “And…”

“You may address me as Guardian, Your Grace,” said Ziyuan. Their tone was tenser than usual, but that tension was not all for the empress.

“I must admit, I’m quite surprised you came.”

No ease of it, then. Anjie’s appearance would be interpreted as weakness. A compromise he had been willing to make, but with circumstances as they were, he could no longer afford to appear weak. But how was he to remedy this? How was he to protect his sword-bound younger brothers against _this_ situation?

Anjie lifted an eyebrow and spoke.

“And I am quite surprised you dine with us. For the new regent of an empire, it would seem quite declarative to spend your inaugural with a foreign lord.”

The dining carts rolled up. A manservant bowed and laid out the dishes around a flowered vase, silent so as to not interrupt Caihe’s response.

“Well, House Guan is deserving of such honor, no? I do believe the masses will be talking just as much of your appearance as they will be talking of my inaugural. And at least this allows us to keep the conversation cordial and brief. But first—I believe you’ve met my new chief?”

Anjie looked at Musheng. Said simply, “You believe correctly.”

A loose smile entered Musheng’s expression. It seemed tentative at first, but perhaps that had merely been Anjie’s imagination: once the curve settled, the entire posture of this man’s body relaxed, his core now as hard to grasp as the wind itself.

“Old faces, new fortunes,” said Musheng.

Anjie looked at Caihe. “You want a cordial and brief conversation. I will oblige, but let us tend toward the latter. State your piece and I will state mine.”

“My piece? Lord Guan, I believe you are mistaken. I merely wished to invite you to dinner. And, of course, to settle some old debts.”

Anjie paused. “Old debts?”

“An important man of my household has been aggrieved by House Guan.” She plucked a meat roll from the central platter on the table. “He lost an eye. I want to give him justice.”

For a moment, the only sound from their table was the crunching between the empress’s teeth. Then Anjie lifted the cutting knife by his plate. The crunching stopped. The others froze.

“Justice?”

He wiped the knife on his napkin. The blade glistened with his reflection, his heartache, his fury, his duty, and his turbulent desperation to protect his family. Persuade Quan Caihe? It was not possible if she believed she had no need to compromise. He knew exactly where this line of conversation led, and he had long lost interest in the politics of step-by-step.  

He stood up. The crowd stirred.

With a breath, a quick calculation, and a steeling, he plunged the knife into his left eye socket. Flicked, carving with a twist. Before there was a full reaction from anybody, before his own body could truly process the damage, Anjie stabbed the knife before Musheng’s plate. His copper eye trembled with loose flesh, speared on the gored blade.

Anjie looked at Caihe with his one eye. He did not allow himself to react to the searing pain, nor to see the reaction of that figure in his blindspot. By only will and the thought of his family, he kept his voice steady.

“Regent,” he said as the room hissed, “if it’s an eye you want, he has it. Do not think we fear the paltry losses of men. If it is justice you want, line up his family and burn up their hearts. But we both know you care for neither. So let us get to the point. If it is Guilin you want, dig up the mountains and make graves for your army.”

He leaned over the table, gripping the flower vase at its center. The blood from his eye socket poured out, splattering the petals, the meal, the fine golden cloth.

“I did not give the men of Yulai this warning because they did not have the courtesy to invite me to dinner. As a gesture of gratitude for this fine meal, know this: if you touch my land, I will kill every last soldier who bears the Quan emblem. Your golden dragon shall be red from Yincheng to Mosanguo.”

The empress’s hands flickered over the dragon on her chest.

Anjie turned to Ziyuan, who was already rising.

He turned back to the empress. “Enjoy your dinner, Your Grace. And may the heavens bless your rule.”

Without a look for the silent Musheng, Anjie made his exit from the imperial palace. Not a soul dared to stand in his way.

  

* * *

 

The crane left, but the blood stayed.

Hours later, Caihe placed her hand over her heart, over the golden emblem of the Quan.

It was late night. That dinner had concluded, the horrific disruption a whisper for the masses come morning. Caihe stood on a garden pavilion of her palace, hoisted over a pond of autumn lotus blossoms. Her only company were her silent guards and the man she had ordered to keep her company. She’d taken his gifted eye, of course, sent it to their scientists to deconstruct. That copper was a rare thing to land indeed.

The newly named Quan Musheng did not seem happy about it. Of course, if it was revenge he desired, he would naturally lust for a more brutal taking—screams, a gasp, a tremor—any hint of pain at all. But the Lord Guan had removed his eye on his own terms, appearing as if he had merely severed a lock of hair.

Terrifying.

“I imagine he’s not permanently maimed,” said Caihe.

Behind, Musheng stirred. He leaned his back against the pavilion pillar, a lax posture. For a while his signature smile had eluded him, but it was back now, crooked and easy. “No. His body is not like ours.”

“Oh?” Caihe turned to better see her chief. “And just how well do you know his body?”

Musheng scratched the side of his jaw. “As well as I needed to to get the job done.”

“So professional,” said Caihe, walking to his side. She slid her hand along his arm, sank it down over his chest. A steady pulse. “You miss it?”

Musheng shifted. Caihe couldn’t quite tell if his heart rate picked up or not. But it didn’t matter—his words surprised her enough that she dropped her hand.

“I suppose.”

Caihe lifted an eyebrow.

Musheng cocked his head, his lips curving slightly once more. “You did promise me you would bring him to my feet and let me do whatever I wanted, Your Grace. Is it a problem now?”

She stared. Then chuckled.

“I see. I didn’t take you for that kind of man, Musheng.”

“We all have our own skeletons.”

“Some more disturbing than others.”

Musheng shrugged. “He frightens me. It’s true. And I was on the beaten end of our history. But, Your Grace, if a man ever conquered you like that, wouldn’t you want to break him properly too? I don’t find it disturbing.”

“I’d want to break him, not fuck him. But to each their own.” She filed away these thoughts for later and returned to the pavilion balustrade once more, gazing over the night pond. “We may have to exercise patience, however.”

It was the trick with the eye, stirring up old doubts. Guilin had been named the Ghost Forest because of their cranes—back then, in the first Quan invasion three and half centuries ago, those defending warriors simply would not die. Again and again, the legend went, they would return to life like the vicious undead.

“How do you kill a crane, Musheng?”

A pause.

“You cut off their head,” he said. “Which can be quite difficult, since their spine is encased in a titanium variant.”

“I had a feeling,” she said. “A man does not cut out his own eye to make light threats. If we invade Guilin, the Lord Guan would have to die in the first battle. If he survives even one, I imagine he will come to me. Much like how one kills a crane, you kill a new empire by severing its head. And it’s true, Musheng, that we have no men in our ranks who can face him?”

“It is.”

“Very well,” said Caihe.

“Very well?”

“Guilin will have its peace yet.”

Musheng shifted off the pillar. “You mean…”

How curious. He didn’t nearly sound damned enough to have vengeance stolen. Caihe smiled regardless, moving to pat the man’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, Musheng. You’ll have what I promised you.”

He paused.

“What are you planning?”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“You tell me, Chief Quan. You know him, no?”

He didn’t say anything, so Caihe continued.

“The Lord Guan is afraid of a war,” she said. “In fact, one might even say that he’s _desperately_ afraid. A man does not cut out his own eye to make light threats, and a man does not cut out his own eye to make unnecessary ones. He may be formidable, but there are people in Guilin who are not. So let us see just how far he is willing to go to protect them.”

She smiled, recalling the vivid blood of the crane pour onto the dinner table. Lush, beautiful, luring a thrill within her chest that her palm could barely contain.

“An eye is lovely. But perhaps next time, he will be amenable to giving us his head instead.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: Lan Caihe, after which our new empress Quan Caihe was named, is one of the eight immortals of Chinese mythology, often believed to have been an intersex woman. So, yes, she really was conditioned from birth to immortalize herself!


	11. The Greed of Dynasty | 9

In the private compartment of the bulletrail, Ziyuan wrung the wet crimson from a torn cloth. It was nearly midnight, the landscape pitch outside, having passed the life of the cities. Only the moon could be spotted beyond the window, a lonely, halved circle in the sky.

Ziyuan sat beside Anjie on the lower bunk bed, their water bowl vibrating gently atop a pull-out table. The liquid refracted the soft lights of their strange room. What should have been a mellow orange was hued red, a thick dilution of blood that was beginning to thicken. The bleeding should have stopped long ago, but still it continued to saturate the air.

Ziyuan could not bear it. An uncommon condition: Ziyuan was not a sentimental person and could tolerate a great many things. With Anjie, who was far stronger than they were, the need to fret rarely presented itself. But tonight a spell had been cast, and it felt as if the invulnerable First Guardian was only a withered leaf of the new season.

At last Ziyuan swallowed and said, “Did it have to be your eye?”

No response.

Ziyuan patted the torn flesh. The skin was healing already. The socket still gaped. Seeing it was suffocating—brought back the lifeless horror Ziyuan had felt when the blade speared into Anjie’s eye. How many cranes had Ziyuan seen die in that same manner?

Too many to count. A blade through the vulnerable openings of the skull, a direct tearing of their organic brains, was the only way in which a crane might be killed on the battlefield. The Yulai soldiers took Ziyuan’s father with a spear through the right eye. They took Ziyuan’s sister with a bullet through the left.

“If you had miscalculated, Anjie…”

“They asked for an eye,” said Anjie.

His voice came out dry. Torn along the edges, as if he had screamed for hours. But he had been silent ever since leaving the palace.  

Ziyuan shook their head. “ _They_ didn’t. She did. He…” Ziyuan paused, rethinking what they were about to say. No, it wouldn’t do any good for Anjie to hear it.

But too late, Ziyuan watched a red drop slide down the Lord Guan’s cheek. This drop did not have the viscosity of blood.

Ziyuan hesitated.

To press that tear away? To leave it? Would Anjie resent his weakness, no matter how momentary, how private? He was the First Lord after all, and he had always taken such care to uphold that image.

But no. It was not fair to leave him upon his pedestal in moments like this.

Ziyuan set the cloth aside. Slid their arms over Anjie’s shoulder and pulled him into an embrace.

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Ziyuan.  

Anjie was silent. After a moment, he lowered his head to Ziyuan’s shoulder.

“I do not understand,” he whispered. “How can he still do this to me?”

“Your heart is only human, Anjie.”

Fingers curled against Ziyuan’s sides, like a child grasping for comfort.  

“When I saw that scar on his face, all I could think about was...was…”

A hitch. Another. And then the compartment was quiet, thrumming with only the mechanical lull of the engines. It was like this for a long while.

At last Anjie pulled away and wiped his face with his sleeve. The left half was soaked red again. Holding his back straight, he said, “I am not sure if the message was sufficient for the new empress. We will need to make preparations when we return to Guilin.”

“You made it audible—red from Yincheng to Mosanguo. If Quan Caihe makes a move, she will have to deal with the apprehension of a whole empire.”

“That may buy us time,” he said. “Perhaps not indefinitely.”

Ziyuan handed over a roll of gauze they had picked up at the night market.

“What will you do?”

“The same thing we did for the last battle with Yulai, if it comes to it.”

Ziyuan frowned. “Anjie…”

“Only if it comes to it.” Anjie glanced sideways at Ziyuan with a single eye. By the end of the week, it would be two again. “I do not know if Quan Caihe will heed my warning. But I do keep my promises.”

 

* * *

 

It was a week before Anjie returned to the estate.

The house received a message that light matters were occupying the two guardians beyond Guilin. Without details, the innocuous words seemed ominous—and then Sanhai had left to meet them in the exterior town of Duling, saying nothing about why the two needed her escort. Wenzhan paced the outer gardens the whole afternoon, frantic, untameable, until he finally saw his brother appear on the dirt path.

He took two steps forward. Before the third, a small shadow dropped off the edge of the estate wall and bolted past him. A smile broke on Anjie’s beautiful face as he caught a distraught little girl.

“An-Ge! An-Ge! Y-you were gone s-so long!”

“I’m very sorry, Ah-Bo. I did not like it either.”

Little Wenbo gripped Anjie’s kneeling form and continued to sob.

Wenzhan finally made it over, sauntering at a hard-controlled pace. Anjie saw him and smiled a different smile, a little more apologetic. His heart skipped a beat at those soft copper eyes.

“Ah-Zhan.”

“An-Ge.”

_What kept you so long?_

“No greeting for me, boy?”

Wenzhan glanced at Ziyuan and scratched his head. “Hey, Da-Yuan.”

“That’s better.” Ziyuan held out a bag. “Go carry these inside for the children.”

“What’s in it?” said Wenzhan, taking the bag.

“Treats.”

Little Wenbo finally stopped sniffling and eyed the bag.

“Go on,” Anjie said to his sister. “Have your pick first.”

She rubbed her running nose. After a moment of what looked like difficult deliberation, she shook her head and latched back onto Anjie. Her words muffled in his robes. “Don’t wanna.”

Anjie laughed. “I’ll be here, Ah-Bo. The treats won’t.”  

Wenbo still refused. Wenzhan would have too, but he didn’t have the excuse of youth to keep him clinging to Anjie’s side. It seemed shameful to do so when Jinyue, occupied with overseeing the household affairs, had not even been spared the time to greet their elder brother. Impatiently, Wenzhan waited for dinner to press his questions—to have his time with Anjie, whom he so viscerally missed.

But dinner didn’t happen that night. Instead, Anjie called a full house meeting in the central hall that lasted for several hours. Only the children were exempt. Sitting between the western pillars alongside Jinyue, Aunt Baisun, Sanhai, and the recently returned Liutian, Wenzhan listened in silence as the house made preparations for an imperial invasion.

“It’s not certain,” said Anjie, “but we must be ready.”   

The next afternoon, Wenzhan found Anjie in his training room, sparring with Ziyuan. He was hesitant to interrupt their extraordinary dance, but both of his elders noticed his lingering shadow within seconds. Ziyuan arched their eyebrow, eyed Wenzhan’s rare training clothes, shrugged, and left. Anjie hesitated.

“I’ve not seen you come here in months,” said his brother.

Wenzhan slid off his shoes and walked closer. Not too close. “I...I don’t want to be a burden.”

_I don’t want to see you soaked in blood._

It seemed to be the wrong thing to say. Anjie’s lips trembled before he turned away. “No, Ah-Zhan…”

Wenzhan took another step closer.

“Will you help me train?”

After a moment, his brother’s uncertainty evaporated to a smile. “Of course.”

It had been a while since Wenzhan held a sword against Anjie. The warriors of House Guan practiced this fluid, weaponized martial art because their battles mandated swift kills—one after the other, relentlessly, until their small numbers overwhelmed armies. For Anjie, who possessed the engineered muscle propulsion and reduced cellular weight to sweep crowds, Wenzhan’s heavier motions must seem viscous. But Anjie made no mockery of it, interspersing their practice with the occasional praise or constructive comment.

_Clean strike. Too far left. Overextending_ — _watch your arm. Good, clean pivot._

It was all so contained that every word, every _syllable_ lacerated his lungs.

At last, parried hard for the hundredth time, Wenzhan dropped his wooden sword.

Anjie frowned. “Ah-Zhan?”

Not a bead of sweat on his brother’s skin. By contrast, Wenzhan’s chest was heaving, pained, soaked.

“I’m not good enough.”

“That is not—”

“I’m not good enough to protect you.”

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. The words had just come out, rasped.

For a moment, Anjie appeared confused. Then he lowered his sword and stepped toward Wenzhan, reaching for his shoulders. “Oh, Ah-Zhan. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But I do,” whispered Wenzhan. “When I have nightmares about—about _that_ , you’re always alone. Always.”

Anjie pulled him close. Wenzhan shut his eyes.

“I’m never alone,” said Anjie. “I have Ziyuan, Sanhai, Aunt Baisun. I have the cranes. And whether you are beside me or not, I have you and your brother and sister.”

“Make me a crane.”

Anjie pulled away.

“A crane like you,” said Wenzhan.

A frown flickered across his brother’s brow. “I can’t do that, Ah-Zhan.”

“Why not? I want it. I’m ready for the risks. We need it now, more than ever. The new empire is four times the size of Yulai—”

Anjie shook his head.

“No, Ah-Zhan. I can’t do that.”

“Why not? We’ve always done it—”

“Because—”

Anjie hesitated. He looked so vulnerable as his eyes searched for words, as his lips held half-parted, the delicate curves soft and moist. The afternoon sunlight painted the long, slender shadows of his lashes over his fine cheeks. Wenzhan’s pulse picked up, thundering his skull dizzy.

Then Anjie looked at his brother and said, “Because I can’t lose you. Because I love you.”

How many times had Wenzhan dreamed of hearing those three words, from those lips, like this? Of feeling them brush his skin at their proximity, touch his bones at their sincerity? They curled around his lungs, suffocated him. No oxygen to his mind.

He grabbed Anjie’s face and kissed him.

For one moment, one beautiful moment, all he knew was the sweet, tinged warmth of those lips.

And then Anjie jolted back.  

They looked at each other. His brother wore an unguarded shock, confusion.

“I...Ah-Zhan…”

Wenzhan turned around and ran.  

He ran beyond the estate, past the fields, out of Guilinhe village. When he could feel neither the bile in his lungs nor his lungs anymore, he still kept running. If he stopped, he might scream down the valley mountains, and he was so afraid that Anjie would hear him and find him and look at him again.

Somehow, he ended up in front of a familiar apartment. The door opened.

Suzha stared at him. “Wenzhan?”

Wenzhan stared at her.

“I kissed him,” he said.

_Help me._

Suzha didn’t ask who. She only swept her gaze over his exhausted body and pulled him inside. She pushed him toward the cheap, beaten couch, where he slumped and cradled his head. A few moments later, the tea table thumped with a bottle. A cork popped.

“Here. Drink.”

Wenzhan took the liquor. He poured it down his throat. Suzha had to tear the bottle away from him.

“Hey—you idiot boy, that isn’t what I meant. You trying to kill yourself?”

He dropped his head in his hands again. “I kissed him,” he said again.

“Who? Your big brother?”

Wenzhan looked up, briefly shocked out of his misery. “You knew?”  

“Anjie, right?” Suzha downed a quick gulp. “You say his name in your sleep.”

A silence.

“Fuck,” muttered Wenzhan. “What the fuck?”

Suzha handed him the bottle again. “Drink. Slower this time, or the rest is mine.”  

Wenzhan drank.

A long time later, perhaps hours later, he found himself sprawled naked on a bed, an utter mess beneath the yellow night lights and cracked ceiling. Fingers stroked his head like he was a wounded dog. And why not? It seemed like he had the proclivities of one. As if it wasn’t enough to dream of his brother—to _say his name_ , and Wenzhan shuddered to think in what voice—he had dared to kiss those lips. To sully _him_ with this wretched longing.

“Shouldn’t,” he slurred. “Bed’ll dirty.”

“What?” A pause. “Oh. Bit too late for that.”

“Don’t you think...think I’m disgusting?”

A sigh. “You were out of sorts the day I met you, Wenzhan. A bit like you were stuck in a tragic novel.” The fingers threading his hair paused. They drifted to his cheek, tracing dried tracks. “Maybe it’s why I picked you.”

Wenzhan tried to look up. “What?”

Suzha pat his cheek. “Nothing, handsome. Let’s get you home, shall we?”

“N-no…”

A pause.

“Your brother will worry if you’re not back tonight. And I don’t want him barging into my place.”

“Can’t see him. Can’t.”

Suzha slipped off the bed and began to hoist Wenzhan upright. “We’ll sneak around. Come on, Wen-Gege, don’t be a baby…”

Wenzhan was not coherent enough to resist. He barely processed their hitched ride and slow stumble into the Guan estate. The familiar plum and begonia scent enveloped him with an instinctive comfort and an swallowing guilt. Vaguely, he pointed Suzha toward the side entrance, toward the private chambers. A pair of soft footsteps interrupted their navigation, as intimately familiar through the haze as his own name.

“Ah-Zhan?”

Wenzhan clutched at Suzha’s sleeves, panicking. “No. No, not him.”

The footsteps came closer, stopping before the two of them. Wenzhan saw white robes in his vision, a slender hand in his peripheral.  

“Don’t look at me,” he whispered. “Please don’t look at me.”

A pause.

In a strange, cold voice that Wenzhan did not recognize, Anjie said, “Bring him this way.”

Like a brutal slap, the chilled distance of those words jolted him out of his drunken stupor. Wenzhan glanced up at his brother, who truly did not look at him. That untouchable elegance seemed oceans away now, further than it had ever been before. His heart felt suddenly broken.

_What have I lost? What did I ruin?_

They set him in his room. No—not, they. Suzha did. Anjie didn’t touch him.

“See you later, Wen-Gege,” murmured Suzha.

Undone, Wenzhan only laid limp on his bed, unmoving as the footsteps retreated and the door slid shut.

 

* * *

  

The wooden door was smooth beneath her fingertips, a stasis for her rapid pulse.

Like winter, the gaze on the back of her neck filled the dim-lit corridor. Suzha breathed. Pulled on a smile, as ever she did on this mask, and turned around.

“Sorry, Master Guan, I—”

The blade was at her throat before she heard the swish. The words drained out of her lungs.

Past the glinting metal were the fierce metallic eyes of the First Lord Guan. This was but the second time she had seen him, but like instinct, Suzha knew that the burning quality was not often found on the face of the man who had appeared so gentle before the Guilin people, who held Wenzhan’s heart at his nails. It was terrifying to behold: in a glance, Suzha could imagine the white of his robes blood-soaked, his loose silken hair wet in strings of gore. The brutal tales she had grown up hearing at night echoed against her skull.

The Lord Guan spoke first.

“How bold of you to cross my land with the face of Yu Ling.”

Her father’s name ghosted her skin like a death sentence. Was this it? How she would end? A dream of retribution snuffed out like it was never anything to begin with. With all the nerve she had left, she bared her teeth. Spoke quietly, so the words wouldn’t reach Wenzhan.

Why did she think of that foolish third brother in this moment anyway?

“Why shouldn’t I be bold?” said Suzha. “You slaughtered my family. I have nothing left to lose.”

“Do you imagine that makes you invincible?”

The Lord Guan took a step closer. The blade point stung. Wet liquid dripped down her throat.

“I have a great many things to lose,” murmured the First Guardian. “Would you like to test the scale?”

“Go on,” said Suzha, false bravado. “Kill me. It’s the only thing you’ve ever done to outsiders.”

“It very well should be.”

A silence hung between them. At last the Lord Guan removed his blade and stepped back. He gazed down at her like a frigid mountain eagle, and she was but a crippled rat unfit for dining.

“Our conflict with Yulai concluded nine years ago. I will let it be done, Lady Yu. But the boy you touched tonight is more precious to me than life. So if I see your face again—if _he_ sees your face again—I will be taking your life. Do I make myself clear?”

Suzha took a step back. Without another word, she fled the Guan estate.    

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Wenzhan remembered pieces. Mostly, Anjie’s cold voice.

He collected some things and wandered out of the estate before dawn, wanting to wash the grime of his desires in a place less sacred. In the front courtyard, a small voice stopped him.

“Where are you going?”

Wenzhan looked toward the plum tree. Little Wenbo was sliding down the trunk. She had kept her distance from him since declaring that she hated him last month, but two weeks ago, she had begun speaking to him again. Not kindly, not warmly, and not frequently—the forgiveness came slow, and this was only her fourth question for Wenzhan since that time.

He wished he could give it its proper due. Instead: “I’m going for a walk.”

Wenbo pointed at his bag. “With _that_?”

He frowned. “What are you doing? The sun’s not even up.”

Wenbo fished out some freshly-picked plums from her pocket. “I’m getting breakfast for An-Ge.”  

Anjie. The mention of him made it difficult to breathe.

“I’m...I’m going to the shrine,” said Wenzhan.

“In Rizhai?”

“No…”

“Where? Why are you going to a shrine?”

“I just want to visit.”

Some old memories. Old gods, immortal foxes and their curses.

Wenbo kept frowning.

Wenzhan tried to smile. “I’ll be back in a few days, okay? See you, Bobo.”

He was halfway out the courtyard before she called to him again.

“Did you eat breakfast?”

He looked over his shoulder. Wenbo picked out a plum and tossed it to him. He caught a small, hard lump—speckled yellow, still half-ripe.

“I can’t find the ones you get,” she said. “They don’t grow on the tree.”

This time, Wenzhan did not have to try so hard to smile. “Because you pick them too early, Bobo.”

His sister glanced at the ground. She mumbled her next words.

“Come back soon.”

Wenzhan paused. Before he could respond, Wenbo turned and ran inside. Wenzhan watched until her little silhouette was swallowed by the shadows of House Guan, and then he walked out of the estate gates.

Out over the horizon, the sun bled into the sky.

 

* * *

...

* * *

 

On the fifth day after the inaugural imperial dinner, a guest came knocking on Quan Caihe’s palace doors. He claimed he had an affiliation with the Lord Guan, whose appearance in Yincheng had spread well across the empire, precisely as Caihe had intended. Hopeful, she invited this man into the hearing hall, where he presented as a scruff, unappealing workman. He looked like he had not brushed nor cleaned his hair in weeks. From even a distance, he smelled like rotted smoke and putrid wine. Eyes bloodshot with madness, spite—fury.

“State your name,” she said to this man.

The man had the sense to bow his head.

“Chang Dazhe, Your Grace. I’ve got a debt to settle with House Guan.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: When Wenzhan refers to Ziyuan as Da-Yuan, the “Da” literally translates to “big”, attributing significance or superiority to a person. Although in translation, Jinyue and Wenzhan occasionally call Anjie “brother” (instead of An-Ge), they are technically supposed to be referring to him as “Da-Ge”. It seemed appropriate for Ziyuan to get this honorific since there aren’t many ungendered honorifics.


	12. The Greed of Dynasty | 10

During breakfast, a staffboy came with a strange delivery.

“Message for you, Guardian,” he said, bowing to Ziyuan with a roll of parchment.

Anjie, who was stirring honey into his sister’s herbal tea, glanced up at the staffboy’s odd tone. The boy had been serving as Ziyuan’s messenger for several years now, and it was the first time his voice pitched like so. Anjie’s eyes caught on the parchments unfolding in Ziyuan’s hands—two stacked sheets, the frontmost a near-empty white. The only lettering on this coversheet read, _For Mu Zi Yuan._

“This is unusual,” said Ziyuan, lifting the coversheet.

The messenger said, “The file was encrypted. It came a few hours ago from an unknown sender. I had to ask Master Zhang to decrypt it for you. We haven’t looked at the contents, Guardian.”   

Ziyuan and Anjie shared a glance.

“Thank you, Liwei,” said Ziyuan.

The messenger boy nodded, leaving only three Guan siblings and Ziyuan in the tea room.

“Encrypted?” echoed Jinyue, setting down his chopsticks.

Ziyuan was inspecting the documents in their hand and did not respond. Though intensely curious, Anjie went back to stirring the tea for Wenbo, choosing to respect the privacy of the message. But he had no sooner slid the teacup to his sister than Ziyuan handed the second sheet his way. In the brief moment before Anjie glanced down to inspect this sheet, he saw a confused frown on his friend’s face.

It was immediately apparent why.

The document that had been encrypted for Ziyuan contained a single colored photograph of an unfamiliar, aristocratic man. Below this photograph was a detailed profile of the man’s name, birthdate, weight, height, affiliations, land holdings, last seen, and a list of frequented locations. The bolded name was Hua Junli.

“Do you know this man?” said Anjie.

Wenbo tugged at Anjie’s sleeve and peered over his arm.

Ziyuan shook their head. “I don’t.”

“Who?” said Jinyue.

“Hua Junli,” said Anjie.

Jinyue blinked. “Hua Junli...isn’t he the younger brother of Hua Jiayu? The former regent of Anzhou?”

A pause.

“I’m still not sure why his information has come my way,” said Ziyuan. They shook their head, taking the paper that Anjie returned and tucking it into their robes. “I’ll ask someone to look into it later. See if we can figure out where this message came from.”

“And who addressed it to you,” said Jinyue. “Who beyond Guilin knows you by name?”

“Perhaps the cranes talked,” said Ziyuan.

Anjie frowned.

“An-Ge,” said Wenbo, tugging at his sleeve again, “you haven’t tried the plums yet.”

Anjie turned to his sister, letting the odd matter slide for the time. Smiling, he picked one from the bowl and inspected its speckled, tough form. He took a bite of bitter sour and hummed. “It has a strong taste. Here, have a bite.”

Wenbo leaned over and took a bite. She spat it right back out onto her plate.

Anjie laughed. “You see? Wait for it to soften next time, Ah-Bo.”

The girl bit her lip, eyes drawing at the edges. “I’m sorry, An-Ge, I…”

Anjie took another bite of the plum. “Well, it compliments the porridge nicely.”

The frown on his sister’s face evaporated to a smile. She turned back to her meal happily.

“Is Wenzhan sleeping in again?” said Jinyue.

With a mouth full of porridge, Wenbo said, “He left this morning.”

“He left?” said Jinyue.

“Said he was goin’ to a shrine. Said he’d be back in a few days.”

A tinge of worry knotted in Anjie’s chest. It wasn’t uncommon for Wenzhan to vanish for days at a time, and frequently like this, leaving a message for any Guan house member and expecting it to reach Anjie eventually. But yesterday had been...particular. He hadn’t the chance to speak with his younger brother about it yet, hoping for a sober and proper conversation. Perhaps he should have taken the drunken talk to avoid this new anxiety. He could only imagine what Wenzhan was feeling right now, the kiss still unaddressed like an open sore.

Anjie folded his fingers over his stomach and gazed at his reflection in his dark tea. That knot of worry coated with a layer of ache. Loving someone in vain, loving someone with thick guilt interlacing that intensity—helplessly, alone, as if eaten by a curse—Anjie knew it all too well, and it was the last thing he wanted for his brother. But perhaps, for Wenzhan, it was not so incurable yet. With time, patience, and a chance to live with freedom…

“An-Ge?” said Jinyue.

Anjie looked up. “Ah. It is nothing. Let us finish eating.”

The morning passed.

Late afternoon, Anjie and Ziyuan returned from a checkup in the southern Guilin town and stopped by the training hall, where Jinyue was leading practice. The younger Guan back-pedalled on a barely-parried strike when he saw Anjie, but knocked his opponent down moments later. His opponent was Feng Sueyi—a copper eyed crane. Anjie smiled, proud of his talented, ever-working brother. Jinyue glanced up in time to catch this smile, and then, flushing, he struck his sword against the ground and called the hall’s attention. He gave a smooth order to rotate pairings.

“Shall we join them?” said Anjie.

Ziyuan chuckled. “You go ahead. I’m going to—”

A pair of footsteps rushed down the open corridor. A gasping messenger bent over his knees before the two of them.

“First Lord, Guardian. Quan Caihe—Quan Caihe—”

His voice carried. The clamour from the training room began to fade.

“Quan Caihe is in Beicheng.”

A chill ran down Anjie’s spine. “What is she doing there? And why are we only hearing of this now?”

“She’s with the Council, my lord. I think she came on their invitation, so the guards didn’t run the message. I heard from the villagers.”

“How many are with her?”

“Only a handful, my lord. And...and a one-eyed man.”

Anjie’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword, his throat tightening. He swallowed.

“Ziyuan.”

“Here, my lord.”

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Anjie moved too quickly for Jinyue to stop him. By the time he caught a full glimpse of his brother’s white-robed back, Anjie and Ziyuan were already saddled on their horses and galloping down the Guilinhe road. Swallowing a curse, Jinyue ran back to the estate to grab his sword and his proper Guan attire. Then he made his way as fast as he could toward the stables.

He had not reached the front gate when hooves drummed up to him. Atop his familiar stallion was little Wenbo, still wearing her black training garments from a youth exercise in the training wing. She must have overheard the talk from the main hall.

How she understood the significance of it enough to rush out a horse, he had no idea.

“Bobo, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting your horse. Get on!”

“No, Bobo, you’re staying here—”

She pulled the horse away from him, her eyes in a sharp glare. “No! I’m going to help An-Ge.”

“He doesn’t need your help—”

“Yes, he does! Hurry up and get on!”

Struck by his little sister’s assertion, Jinyue climbed on the horse. Wenbo urged the stallion before he could settle. By the time he regained his balance, sending his sister back to the estate no longer seemed reasonable.

It was not long before another set of hooves joined them.

“Master Guan!”

Jinyue glanced over his shoulder. It was his attendant. “Cailan? What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

No helping it. Jinyue didn’t even know what they were riding into, but that the messenger had said _Quan Caihe_ and Anjie had gripped his sword. The vivid memory of those fingers closing around the hilt, the skin stretching pale across his knuckles, chilled Jinyue to the bone. Nobody survived Guan Anjie that he did not wish to survive, but bloodshed in Guilin tonight meant a long, brutal war.

When they were past the Rizhai township, Jinyue glanced down at his sister.

“Bobo.”

“Yeah?”

“How do you know An-Ge needs help?”

She rubbed her nose carelessly, snot smearing on her palm.

“‘Cus he looked scared, Jin-Ge.”

Jinyue clenched his jaws and snapped the reins. With a heavy grunt, their horse hurried faster down the valley road.

 

* * *

 

By relentless horseback, it was still an hour ride from the Guan estate to the Beicheng Council House. Evening closed in on Anjie and Ziyuan as they pulled in front of the old, strict structure, those painted wooden gates shut like an insult. At a glimpse of their crane white robes, the guards bowed and stepped aside. They left the horses untethered and entered the council house.

A familiar man walked out of the main hall to greet them. He was elderly, white hair prim, blue robes rich. It was Councilman Lang, who had come to deliver dove silk to Anjie on the night of the Remembrance thanksgiving. Today, he wore not gratitude but reserved, nervous guilt.

Anjie swept back his robes and collected his anger.

“Councilman Lang. I hear you have a guest.”

“She came on some trivial legal business, Lord Guan. We didn’t wish to involve the guardians.”

“Trivial legal business?”

“A matter of jurisdictional justice…”

“Speak clearly, Councilman.”

The councilman brought his hands together, sleeves closing beneath a frown. “A man of Anzhou was wrongly punished for the rape of a Guilin woman. The Empress sought reparations. We resolved the issue, Lord Guan. There is no need for House Guan to interfere.”

 _To start a war,_ said those eyes.

“Resolved?” Anjie echoed quietly.

The councilman looked away. “We are deeply grateful to our guardians, Lord Guan. We could not betray your house, no matter where the fault lies… So we gave her the accuser to judge, just as House Guan judged the accused.”

An image flashed before Anjie’s eyes: an old woman with an exhausted bun, her young daughter beside her, bruised and shivering. A soft voice gathering strength through the wracking, trying to reclaim her soul.

And that man, Chang Dazhe, unrepentant on his knees before Anjie.

“Where are they now?” he said.

A pause.

“They left when news came of your arrival in Beicheng, Lord Guan.”

Anjie turned and left the council house.

Outside, just as he was remounting his horse, he sighted two familiar faces in his peripheral.

“An-Ge!”

It was Jinyue and Wenbo. Panic welled inside him. Only briefly—there was no time.

“Ah-Yue, take your sister back to the estate.”

“But—”

“That’s an order. Go!”

“An-Ge!”

He snapped his reins and galloped toward the Beicheng exit gate, Ziyuan at his side. Behind, his siblings and their attendant ignored his command. He smothered the frustration and focused on catching up to Quan Caihe.

“She’s baiting you, you know that,” said Ziyuan over the hooves.

“She crossed the line,” hissed Anjie. 

The town body of Beicheng faded away. The modest entrance into Guilin appeared in the distance, a traditional wooden archway into the sacred valley. Moments later, their horses stomped beyond this gate.

Waiting down the foreign dirt road was Quan Caihe.

She leaned against a sleek, modern van, as if she had been patient for a while. Only five were in her company: three uniformed guards, a familiar battered girl, and her new imperial chief.

“I was expecting you, Lord Guan.” Caihe glanced at the hooves catching up to him. “And it looks like you bring young company.”

Anjie dismounted. He dusted smooth the folds of his robes and walked forward. Beside the empress, her trembling young captive fell to her knees and began to sob.

“Lord Guan, Lord Guan, please…please, I didn’t do anything...”

Anjie kept his expression flat as he glanced over the girl. There was blood on her face. A split lip.

He stopped five paces from Quan Caihe, only because her guards and _that_ man had stepped forward. As over that blood-soaked dinner table, he met her eyes.

“I made you a promise,” he said quietly. “Touch my land, and your gold will dye red.”

“I remember very clearly, Lord Guan.”

The weight of his sword at his side intensified. His eyes lidded.

“Your arrogance astounds me, Quan Caihe. Did you truly believe you could come into my home, harm my people, and expect to return to Yincheng alive?” Her guards tensed at his threat, reaching for the oddly thick weapons at their sides. Anjie continued before they could draw. “Do not bother. It will take me less than a swing of your blade to be rid of you all.”

The empress chuckled. “No doubt. My chief here says your skill is matchless for thousands, let alone five. Relax your arms, men. We didn’t come here to start a war.” She cocked an eyebrow at Anjie. “And please, Lord Guan, make no mistake. If I die here today, you will still have the wrath of the new Quan dynasty to face. I am not alone in name anymore, after all.”

Anjie smiled, cold. Behind him, the footsteps of his siblings padded to a stop.

“If you think I am so afraid of war as to let you take an innocent woman of Guilin, you are not as sharp as I thought you to be. Or do you imagine I will exchange myself for her? I am no fool, Quan Caihe. Let me repeat myself: If it is Guilin you want, make your graves.” He tilted his head. “You may rest in the valley, if you lust for it so desperately.”

The empress gazed back at him.

A wind swept the path. Beneath it, Anjie’s heart drummed.

 _Run,_ he prayed. _Tuck your tails and leave, for these threats are all I have._

But Quan Caihe smiled.

“You are mistaken about something, Lord Guan. I suppose you can’t be blamed. I did want Guilin, once.”

She stepped forward, passing the protection of her guard, stopping a single pace from Anjie. She glanced at Ziyuan beside him. She turned back to Anjie, sharp eyes sweeping his crane robes. It was a predatory motion, stirring those bodies at Anjie’s back. Ziyuan held out an arm for the younger guardians as Caihe continued.

“You see, Lord Guan, the gift you left me has given me quite a lot to think about. I’ve come to realize that while Guilin may be beautiful, extraordinary, it is but a piece of land. Let’s say that we war, shall we? I have your secrets. I have a thousandfold your numbers, if not more. I can beat you down in waves until your beautiful land is just a wet, red one. Perhaps you survive it. Perhaps I die. But perhaps I win—and I do think I will, Lord Guan, truly. But what then? What if victory means I’ve slaughtered you to the last crane? Was Guilin not named for its cranes? Is the legend of the valley not the legend of the cranes?”

Anjie breathed. His fingers slid around his sword.

Caihe followed the gesture and chuckled.

“Don’t be so defensive, Lord Guan. I am trying to strike a bargain we’ll both prefer. What I desire is not the aesthetic of a valley, but something as immortal and untouchable as justice…”

She reached out, fingers nearing the robes over his heart. The implications of her words were unravelling, striking Anjie motionless. Before she could touch, Ziyuan moved and a small shadow bolted past Anjie.

Wenbo shoved the empress back. Ziyuan held a blade before the woman, a steel guardian in front of Anjie. Behind Caihe, her guards drew their weapons too slowly.

“Don’t touch him!” shouted Wenbo.

Seeing his little sister between himself and the enemy, surrounded by deadly metal, Anjie forgot everything for a moment. He pulled her back quickly and pushed her behind him. This time, his grip on his sword hilt was firm, and his look for Caihe was fueled, fierce.

Caihe straightened her dress, looking between Anjie and his sister. That smile on her face took a different curve. “How precious. Your sister?”

Anjie drew his sword. Caihe pedalled back, but her words didn’t relent.

“I would hate for a child to lose her entire family. So I can make you a promise, Lord Guan, if you would like. If I have what I desire, Guilin will not see the bloodshed of war during my rule. In fact, I’ll swear it upon the honor of my dynasty.”

“You expect me to trust your word?”

“Well, only to a degree,” said Caihe. She gestured back at the captured young woman. “I can cut out this girl’s tongue right now as payment for my wronged man. Maybe you will stop me before then, or maybe you won’t. Or you can come back with me to the capital. I will write an imperial proclamation on Guilin’s autonomy in perpetuity, and with just your honorable signature, Lord Guan, I will make this public across the empire. Of course, I won’t ask for your, ah, submission, before it is done.”

Anjie didn’t move. His pulse drummed in his ears.

The young woman on the ground inhaled, a hitched breath through her bloody lips. Voice shaking, she said, “It is but a tongue, Lord Guan, it’s but a tongue…”

Behind Anjie, Jinyue’s breaths intermingled with his attendant’s, that girl who had devoted her life to his house since the age of eight. Wenbo’s grip ensnared his robes, refusing to let go. Ziyuan stood, a silent presence at Anjie’s side.

If the empress spoke any lie, Ziyuan would have called them all. But the moments passed, and Anjie could only hear his own thoughts.

Indeed, the secrets of House Guan, embedded in his body, would make the new Quan Empire truly immortal. What need would they have for a beautiful piece of land then? Pride, perhaps, would come to take Guilin in time, when the empress was gone and her proclamation ruptured...but still, it was decades of peace for the people he knew and loved. And perhaps by then, the Guan defenses would evolve beyond what his body could give the empire...

Family? Or duty?

 _I’m not good enough to protect you_ , said Wenzhan.

Anjie swallowed.

The truth was that he had made his decision years ago, when he ended the lethal making of the copper-eyed cranes. He simply hadn’t expected to be given clean, hard finality like this.

“Ziyuan.”

Nothing.

He sheathed his sword. It weighed heavy at his side, that ancestral piece of guardianship passed down from First Lord to First Lord, carried beneath the calligraphy script of their tea room. But Anjie ate breakfast with his family in that same room.

He turned to Ziyuan, who would not look at him. Yes, if the empress spoke lies, Ziyuan would have called it long ago.

“Do not make me interpret your silence,” said Anjie.

Another breeze swept the path. Dusk was coming.

Ziyuan closed their eyes. After a moment, they turned to Jinyue’s attendant. Said, “Cailan. Take Wenbo back to the estate.”

Cailan hesitated. In that moment, Wenbo tugged closer to Anjie.

“I don’t…”

Cailan took two steps and scooped Wenbo up on her arms.

“Wait,” said his little sister. Her fingers dug into his robes. “No! No! Let me go! An-Ge!”

Anjie took her hands. Wenbo grasped at him as he pried her fingers free.

“No, no, I don’t wanna go! I don’t wanna leave!”

Cailan pulled her away. Anjie let her small hands go, feeling everything to the last graze of her skin. He looked at her face, reflecting his heart, and he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t find the words before Cailan ran toward Guilin, struggling too much to keep his sister contained in her arms. Her screams trailed, raw and terrible.

“An-Ge! An-Ge! Don’t leave me! An-Ge!”  

Anjie reached for his sword and removed it from the holster. Turning away from his sister, he pressed the sword into Jinyue’s chest. His fingers brushed a trembling, unsteady pulse.

Jinyue staggered back. Blinked. Looked at the sword, at Anjie.

“No,” said Jinyue, hoarse. “No. You’re not going.”

“Ah-Yue.”

“No. I refuse. I refuse, An-Ge, you’re not leaving—me—”

“Guan Jin Yue.”

Jinyue stopped speaking. His eyes glistened.

Calmly, Anjie said, “Watch over this for me, brother.”

Jinyue’s hands closed slowly around the sword of the First Guardian. When Anjie let go, a broken noise fell out of his brother’s lips.

Anjie looked last at Ziyuan. It was a short moment. Ziyuan merely bowed their head.

He faced Quan Caihe. The empress smiled for him before she turned toward her men.

“Would you mind escorting our Lord Guan, Chief Quan?”

For the first time, Anjie allowed himself to look at Musheng. That man knelt briefly to pick up the young Guilin girl, to cut the bindings around her wrists and shove her forward. She stumbled past Anjie, crying, “Lord Guan, Lord Guan…”

Musheng stopped before Anjie, his dark eye unreadable. Anjie looked down, meaning to walk past him, to follow Caihe by his own will. He had been ready to do this, but suddenly his feet would not move. After a moment, Musheng took his shoulder and shoved him forward. Anjie inhaled sharply.

Ziyuan: “Jinyue!”  

As if shaken from a stupor, that voice screamed.

“Don’t touch him! Don’t touch him, you traitor, you disgusting snake!”

“That’s enough, Jinyue—”

“Get your hands off of my brother!”

“Stop it—”

“Jun Musheng! I will kill you! I’ll rip your heart out of your lying throat! You sick, heartless coward!”

Musheng’s fingers tightened around Anjie’s shoulder.

“An-Ge! An-Ge, wait! Wait, please! Please…”

Musheng pushed him into the imperial vehicle. The door closed with a slam, muting his brother’s desperate cries, sealing away the soft valley breeze of Guilin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Jinyue! Jinyue, that’s enough!”

The vehicle disappeared down the long road, taking with it the air from Jinyue’s lungs. His brother’s sword dug into his palm, dirtied against the foreign ground. Nothing that had just happened seemed real, not the hard ride to these outskirts, not the empress, not that horrifically marred face, not the white robes of his brother disappearing beneath that black door. As if caught in a nightmare, he screamed without sound, beat his knuckles into the ground, like the pain would somehow wake him up.

Ziyuan pulled his body upright and grabbed his hands. “Enough now, Ah-Yue.”

 _Ah-Yue_.

Jinyue stopped for a brief moment. But when he looked up, it was Ziyuan. He shut his eyes and felt the tears come again.

“M-Master Guan…”

The girl. The girl Anjie had saved with—

_His life._

Jinyue shut away her voice. Beside him, Ziyuan turned. Ziyuan stilled suddenly.

Jinyue looked up.

The girl was holding something out to them. Blinking away the tears, Jinyue saw that it was a jade pendant on a red string. An unforgettable dragon he hadn’t seen in nine years.

Ziyuan took the pendant. “Where did you get this?”

The girl said, “I think...I felt that man put it inside my pocket. The one with the eye.”

Jun Musheng.

Jun Musheng, who had come to Guilin wearing this jade dragon fifteen years ago, and had never, ever taken it off—except once, to hang like a promise around the neck of Guan Anjie. The pendant had vanished from Anjie’s chest like that broken promise, but now it glistened unmistakable in the red dusk.   

Heart pounding and tears forgotten, Jinyue looked at Ziyuan.

“What does it mean?” whispered Jinyue.

Ziyuan paused. After a moment, their right hand closed around the pendant. Their left hand reached into their robes and pulled out parchments—the strange, encrypted message from this morning. Gazing between the two, Ziyuan answered.  

“He needs help.”

Jinyue inhaled.

Looking down at Jinyue, Ziyuan’s infallible eyes sharpened.

“Pick up your sword, First Guardian. We have an empire to destroy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Part 2 will resume after the first segment of the interlude Graphite Hearts and Mountain Dreams, picking up from the prologue! ...which will begin posting in three weeks. I’m going to wrap up a few chapters of my other work this week and then attend to some rl business. See you all in late July!


	13. Interlude: Graphite Hearts & Mountain Dreams, I

**INTERLUDE**

 

**Graphite Hearts & Mountain Dreams**

* * *

 

**I**

 

The first time Musheng drew Anjie, he tore the paper to shreds and tossed the pieces in the river. He could not help it: it had been years since the strokes of his pencil fell so short of the vision they were meant to capture. Perhaps this was because the first time Musheng drew Anjie, he did not realize what he was transcribing until the marks had already been embedded into the parchment. The shadows of his eyes and the contours of his lips had escaped Musheng, like the pulsing of his own heart, whispering its indistinguishable warnings.

The first time Musheng touched Anjie, catching the soft fluster of his fingers within his terrible hands, he knew he could have what he came for. Because that warm skin felt as if it should have been cold, cold as porcelain, and porcelain was as vulnerable as it was fine. Because his touch had scraped the graphite with this raw innocence, like he could cure the picture of his teardrops, and innocence was the canvas waiting to be stained. Because he looked up at Musheng with these bare, clear eyes, and he saw, he surely saw, that in the moment of their meeting beneath the mountain rain, the mask this soldier came to wear had been washed away.

Musheng had been making graphite of this man for days. But it was there, seeing his teardrop soak into his parchment, that he realized why his pencil strokes had been so gentle.

He felt doubt. But he ignored it.

He believed he knew himself, after all.

So he thought no love could steal his heart from the stars, and unafraid, he echoed this name.

“Anjie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Anjie smiled.

“And you,” he said, “Musheng.”

No love could steal his heart from the stars. So he memorized the sound of his name, soft within the whispers of the gentle valley wind.

 

* * *

 

He came to Guilin under the guise of a wandering artist, not speaking of the insidious Yulai ambitions which sent him. The provincial council looked at his paperwork, his art, and handed him a sixty-day permit with which to document the beauty of the valley. They said Guilin had always been fond of modest craftsmen. Musheng looked the part and had the talent.

He rented a place on the second floor of a cheap riverside apartment. It was upon the old wooden door that a soft rapping came on a late afternoon. Somehow, he knew who it was by the sound of the taps. Somehow he knew he would find the young Guan lord in his white crane robes, smiling faintly with a small basket in his hands.

“You came,” said Musheng. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

It had been three days since the rain.

Anjie simply smiled. He held the basket toward Musheng, the customary offering of an invited guest. “For you.”

Musheng took this, a sweet steam wafting through the weaves. When he opened the basket cap, he found eight small white buns, beautifully folded. “Did you make these?”

Anjie shook his head. “My mother. I’m afraid my culinary talents leave much to be desired.” At a rustling sound behind Musheng, Anjie peered over his shoulder. “Are you busy?”

He was, not having expected Anjie to come at this time. Behind Musheng were three girls and a boy, sitting upon cheap stools he had purchased from the market last week, positioned to sketch a small array of old mugs and plates. They had stopped drawing to peek at the doorway, and two of the children were now whispering to each other.

Musheng turned back to Anjie. “Are you?”

“Not until dusk, no.”

Musheng grinned. “How would you like to model for my students?”

“Your students?”

Musheng stepped aside the doorway, letting Anjie enter. The children went wide-eyed and quiet. “I posted a few notes around the town last week. Cheap art lessons are quite a bit more popular than I expected. But these kids have been complaining about my ugly props, so you came at the perfect time.” He grinned at them now, nodding toward Anjie. “How’s this for aesthetic?”

Flustered, the kids spoke in an unharmonized chorus. “Master Guan…”

Musheng paused, feigning surprise. “ _Master_ Guan?”

Anjie reached for his hair, as if to tuck a loose strand behind his ear. But his locks were short, unlike the common style of the men in Guilin. It had perhaps been recently cut.

“Where would you like me to sit?”

Musheng set the food basket down and cleared some paintbrushes from the sofa. It was the most comfortable place in the apartment, so it was what he offered to the young lord. He next adjusted the window drapes as well, so the shadows cast in deep contrast to the sunlight upon that fine skin, easy lines for amateur pencils to follow. The students seemed quite nervous to be transcribing the Guan guardian onto their parchment, and perhaps Anjie could tell. He pulled his lips into a small smile, his daunting copper eyes cast unobtrusively floorward.

He didn’t speak. Neither did Musheng speak to him. It was a time for the children, whose nervous new lines needed much guidance.  

“Now there’s a gem,” he said after the half-hour, kneeling by one of the younger girls. She was in the middle of shading the cast of his cheekbones. “You’ve captured an atmosphere with this contrast. And here,” his fingertip hovered along the lines of those eyelashes, “what exact pressure. Soft as the real thing. That’s lovely work, Sumei.”

The girl blushed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lip. “Thank you, sir.”

Musheng moved the boy next.

“Ah, that’s fascinating. Is that his…”

The boy looked up at Musheng. “It’s his nose, Mister Jun.”

Musheng grinned helplessly. His eyes caught on a frowning copper pair. Chuckling, he knelt beside the boy and guided his hand to a light, adjusting sketch. “It’s really a very striking interpretation, Bomin. But first, we have to master the technical skills. Draw what is there. And then you can start drawing what you see. Here…remember to be delicate with the creases. And this curve, it’s much softer. And this nose, Bomin?”

The boy squinted between the parchment and the subject.

“It’s…it’s too skinny, isn’t it?”

Musheng smiled and let go of his hand. “You’ve sharp eyes. Keep it up.”

He guided the next girl through some adjustments, and at last knelt beside the smallest, quietest child. Unlike the others, this girl had not yet outlined her subject’s body, nor his hair, nor even his head. She had spent all this time on those eyes, capturing the faint sliver below his downcast lashes. Every so often she would pause, because those eyes kept flickering at Musheng’s ambiguous comments.

Musheng looked between the parchment and the man.

“Beautiful.”

Anjie looked up, catching Musheng’s gaze.

“Thank you, sir,” murmured the girl.

Later, after he sent the children off with a lotus bun each and bade them farewell from the doorway, he turned to find the young guardian leaning over the four sketches. His white robes pooled over the dusty ground, but he didn’t seem to care. There was a fascination about his eyes, as if those rough renditions of his striking beauty were nascent masterpieces.

“Not quite the redraw I promised you,” said Musheng.  

Anjie gathered the parchment and stood, handing them to Musheng.

“Better, I believe.”

Musheng lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

A smile curved those eyes, eased by humor. “Is it not a teacher’s greatest honor to be surpassed by his students? You are very good with them too.”

Musheng chuckled. “What about you?”

Anjie frowned. “Me?”

Musheng picked up a pencil. “Would you like to learn?”

There was a pause. Outside, the sun was setting. But Anjie reached for the pencil anyway, his humored smile becoming a soft, curious one.

“I have not done this before,” he murmured.

Musheng hesitated, unsteadied by a surge of guilt. But in that same moment, his lips softened too, an unconscious mirroring of the innocence he saw.

“That’s fine. I’ll be patient. I promise.”

 

* * *

  

This, at least, was a promise he kept.

Anjie was no artist, the proportions of his imagery never echoing life, the details always missing a dimension. But beneath Musheng’s guiding hand, his skin was warm and his pulse was gentle. He smelled some days of flowers and incense, and other days of ink and blood. Always, when Musheng leaned by his side and traced his parchment, he inhaled the undertone of lily ginger.

It was on a slow afternoon, over mid-lesson tea, that Anjie asked about his pendant.

“This?” said Musheng, lifting the dragon on the red string. “It was my mother’s. Well, my father’s. She stole it from him.”

Anjie arched an eyebrow. Something about that faint gesture of intrigue enchanted Musheng. He smiled and continued the story.

“He was the provincial lord of Husan. My mother was one of his housekeepers. When she became pregnant with me, he upped his irresponsibility tenfold. This,” he tapped the dragon, “was how she stated her piece about it. He never did find us.”

“Where did you go?”

“A city too cluttered for anyone to notice a poor woman and her poor boy. She meant to sell this pendant to feed us, but it found its way around my neck instead. We went hungry some days for this little dragon.” He paused. “I think she dreamed that her child would become one. Something to make small the arrogant lords and ladies that treated her like dog shit.” He hesitated. “Sorry.”

Anjie didn’t seem offended by the language. “And yet you pursue this kind of life.”

Musheng smiled at the table. “It isn’t so bad right now.”

A pause.

“No,” said Anjie. “I think it’s quite beautiful.”

Musheng looked up.

“You can go where you want. Live how you want. Love what you want. With a good heart and talented hands…” He smiled, his touch briefly grazing Musheng’s knuckles. “Those lords and ladies should envy you.”

Musheng watched the young guardian gaze toward the window.

“Do you?”

Anjie was quiet for a moment.

“If I felt envy, I should no longer be called Guan.”

“Why is that?”

He looked at Musheng.

“We are the guardian house of Guilin. We exist to protect this valley. Our desires belong to the valley, and the valley does not envy.”

Musheng frowned, shaking his head softly.

“Your desires belong to you. Even if you believe this world has ascribed you an absolute purpose, it can’t erase your humanity and tell you what to feel.”

“I…”

Nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Musheng said eventually, facing away from the other man. “I suppose it isn’t my place to say any of that. I only came to this valley to admire its beauty, but it isn’t so simple here, is it?”

A pause.

“It can be.”

They looked at each other. Anjie smiled once more.

“Would you like to see?”

 

* * *

 

Of all the landscapes that Anjie showed Musheng over the weeks, his favorite was beside the rusted golden boulders of a tranquil lake. The water here was undisturbed, rippling only from the fish and wind—a pure and vivid turquoise, refracting the blend of the summer sky and fresh forest leaves. In a few short months, he imagined, the deep autumn hues would make a painter’s dream.

He said this aloud, a wistful tone. It had been a part of his plan since he conspired to meet the young Guan lord, but standing beside this man today, his longing was only half contrived.

Anjie hesitated.

“Would you like to stay until then?”

Musheng looked at him. “I’ve asked. The council declined my extension request.” He paused. “I don’t suppose the leaves will turn this weekend?”

Anjie smiled. He was easily humored, which was a grace, because it meant that easily, Musheng could see him smile.

“Not this weekend, no. But if you are willing to wait until autumn, I can speak to the Council on your behalf.”

“Would it work?”

“It would only be a courtesy notice for them,” said Anjie. “My house grants stays by its own authority. And I think the children would miss you very much if we sent you off now.”

“Just the children?”

Anjie glanced at Musheng. He paused. “Perhaps the parchment vendors as well.”

Musheng chuckled. “Yes, well. I would miss them terribly too.”

The corner of those soft lips curled faintly.

The next weekend, Musheng paused his art classes and made a trip out of the valley. For supplies, he said, and it was true. He did purchase supplies that could not be found in traditional Guilin.

He also met, as he had arranged two months ago, with a familiar woman in a cheap motel. He had little to give her yet, but even the small white envelope burned his fingertips as it left. He watched her fold those soft, innocent conversations into her pocket, a whisper echoing in his skull. He did not listen to this whisper, calmly arranging the next meeting in autumn.

When she was gone, he removed the jade dragon from his neck, gazing at it beneath the moonlight. It was not as vibrant as the valley, but it was ancient stone, and precious. Indeed, his ambitions were not as beautiful as the smile of the valley guardian, but they were older and greater than any enchantment. And he believed then, he truly did, that the willingness to sacrifice beautiful things was only a testament to the strength of his dreams.

Every soul had to choose, after all. Humanity or nobility. Family or duty. Love or legacy.

He chose the stars, though it was not easy.  

He wandered the shops the next day, wanting to bring home some foreign sweets for the children. A tray of heavy hairclips caught his eye. A painted crane.

When he presented it to Anjie, the man laughed.

“It will be quite some time before I have the hair for this, Jun Musheng.”

Musheng smiled, closing the guardian’s fingers over his gift. “Well, until then.”

 

* * *

  

Midsummer, a fire started in the Rizhai town center.

Musheng noticed the commotion while he was evening shopping in the market area. When he saw the smoke overhead, he dropped the oranges he was inspecting and hurried to join the growing crowd. A frantic wailing reached him first, preceding the image of a fuming two-story apartment. Flames crawled viciously along its front, and atop, the roof had already begun to crumble.

He scanned the crowd, heart pounding from that pitched wail. A small group of people, clothes damaged and skin smeared, seemed to have barely made it out. But a woman was being held back by a uniformed man, her hands clawing for the burning building.

“My daughter—my daughter, get her out—get her—"

“The building’s coming down, ma’am! We have to wait for the guardian!”

The woman screeched, piercing.

“Sumei! Sumei!”

His blood ran cold.

He dropped his bag and shoved through the crowd. Ignoring the shouts and the poisonous fumes, he ran for the building. A crack sounded, a heavy bolt falling from the roof. The flames billowed, deathly. He hesitated a moment at the broken front door, and then, pulling his sleeve over his mouth, he started forward.

A hand grasped his wrist.    

He turned around. His eyes widened.

“Anjie?”

“Get out of here,” said Anjie.

“Sumei is—”

“I’ll get her. Go, now.”

Something near the entrance toppled to the ground. The force of it shook the frame, closing the pathway. Musheng shouted. Anjie shoved him back into the open street and vanished into the dense black smoke, his unarmored limbs tearing out his pathway through the fire.

“Anjie!”

Hands dragged him away. “Fool, are you trying to die? It’s not safe!”

“He needs help!”

“It’s Master Guan,” said one of the men pulling him back. “You’ll only get in his way.”

Musheng had a moment of clarity then. That Anjie was Guan Anjie, an engineered crane of the legend. But then the roof caved in, the weight compressing the second floor, baring blackened pipes and holding rails. His moment vanished, leaving him with cold horror. Unthinking, he lurched forward.

The streetmen caught him. Stalled by the pressure of their arms, he came back to his senses. There was nothing he could do that wouldn’t get him killed or gravely injured. Helpless, he stared at the burning building.

It felt like an eternity before a wall broke down.

A figure shoved his way through the ruins just as the fire and aid wagons pulled onto the street. He was carrying a smaller body against his chest, the form wrapped thickly in dirtied robes. It was Musheng’s student, Sumei. Her mother took her, sobbing as the child moved and returned the embrace.

Musheng walked toward them on unsteady feet. Anjie glanced his way. He was no longer wearing white. His black underrobes were scorched, torn. Wet. His motions as he passed the child to her mother had not been smooth as they usually were, and he was leaning his weight on his left leg.

“Master Guan, do you—”

Anjie lifted a hand. “It’s fine. The aid?”

“On their way.”

Soon, two wagons pulled onto the street. Sighting them, Anjie left the scene.  

Musheng followed him, watching the pronunciation of a faint limp as they escaped the eyes of the crowd. When they reached an empty road, Musheng cut off the guardian’s path.  

“Anjie.”

Anjie glanced up, taking in the look on Musheng’s face. “I am fine—”

“Give me your arm.”

He paused. After a moment, he lifted his arm hesitantly.

Musheng ducked below it. Before Anjie could withdraw, he swept the smaller man up. The guardian made a startled noise, his hands quickly reaching around Musheng’s shoulders.

“Musheng, I don’t—”

“Just let me.”

Anjie fell quiet. Musheng continued down the road toward the Guan estate.

It was a long walk, but Musheng did not feel it. On the contrary, Anjie was impossibly light, as if his body were nearly hollow. But this could not be so, because Musheng felt the damp blood from his cuts, the rich beat of his heart. The sculpt of bones and curve of muscles.  

He felt, too, warm hands skim along his shoulders, not to readjust a grip. His own pulse rose, surely audible when Anjie pressed his head to Musheng’s collar. A soft breath grazed his throat.

“Why did you try to rush in?” said Anjie. “You could have died.”

Musheng swallowed. His voice was hoarse.

“You could have too.”

Anjie shook his head, the motion stirring Musheng’s skin.

“I am a crane. There is not much in this world that can kill us. It is only expected that we save children from burning buildings. But you…”

His fingers tightened into Musheng’s clothes. Anjie could not see his face, so Musheng closed his eyes briefly. He contrived a smile and injected humor into his voice.

“Careful now, little bird. You wouldn’t want to mistake me for a hero.”

A pause. Anjie lifted his head.

“Little bird?”

“You’re very light, and you are a crane. I think it’s reasonable.”

“I am not that much smaller than you.”

“I’m happy to compare, really.”

Anjie had opened his mouth to respond. He seemed to realize the suggestive tone and fell wordless. Then his weight shifted in Musheng’s arms, and a moment later, he was standing again.

Musheng laughed. “I’m joking, I’m joking. Did I offend you? We don’t need to compare. We can just—”

Anjie made a noise in his throat, walking off.

“Wait, your leg—”

“It is healed,” said Anjie. He tossed back an arched eyebrow. “The perks of being a little bird.”

Musheng blinked. Indeed, the guardian was walking like nothing was wrong. It hadn’t been more than twenty, thirty minutes. Or had it been even less?

“Since when?”

Anjie didn’t respond to that.

Musheng grinned, watching his body move with its usual grace. He had definitely been in walking condition for several minutes now. Musheng didn’t mind the delay in the least.

Too soon, they came upon the Guan estate. Musheng had visited this place once, walking Anjie back on a rainy evening. That rain had faded by the time they reached the gates, and Musheng had never gone inside. He did not intend to today. They stopped at the entrance, where the laughter of young boys drifted from the inner courtyard.  

“Thank you for seeing me here,” said the guardian.

“Thank you,” said Musheng, “for what you did today.”

Anjie searched his eyes. “It was nothing. Then, tomorrow…”

“Anjie?”

Musheng looked up. That voice had emerged from the estate entrance, belonging to a young person with the same crane white robes as Anjie. Musheng could not tell if this person was a man or a woman; their features were delicate and handsome at once, accompanied by a flat chest and broad shoulders, but no masculine curve to their throat. Their voice was just as ambiguous.

It pitched with concern at the sight of Anjie. “What happened?”

“There was a fire in Rizhai,” said Anjie. He glanced at his body. “This is a misleading appearance. I am fine, truly.”

The person frowned, but moved their attention on to Musheng.

As soon as their eyes met, unease crawled beneath his skin.

“Who is this?” the person said.

“Jun Musheng,” said Anjie. “He’s the artist I’ve told you about. Musheng, this is my cousin, Mu Ziyuan.”

Musheng offered a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ziyuan’s gaze did not waver. Musheng felt the compulsion to look away. A breeze passed between them then, and it seemed that the wind swept off a paper mask.

“I don’t think so,” said Ziyuan.

“Pardon?”

Anjie frowned. “Ziyuan, he’s my friend.”

Ziyuan pulled off their white outer garment and slid it over Anjie’s shoulder. “You need to get cleaned up.”

The cranes looked at each other. The frown in Anjie’s brow deepened. His gaze flickered between Ziyuan and Musheng, until at last, he smoothed away his expression and shook his head.

“I will see you tomorrow, Musheng.”

Musheng nodded. Anjie left.

Ziyuan lingered, waiting for Musheng to go.

“Take it easy,” said Musheng, hoping this hostility was merely the product of envy. “We’re just friends.”

The corner of Ziyuan’s lips lifted.

“Leave, traveler. You are not welcome here.”

Musheng stepped back. He shook his head, feigning a lax disappointment. But his spine was cold and his throat was dry, like this guardian at the Guan house gates had stripped him of his skin. Those dangerous eyes followed him down the dirt road, well into the evening shadows.

 

* * *

  

The next day, Musheng picked fresh summer peonies from the valley and arranged them in an unadorned vase. He wanted the subject matter of the lesson to be simple for Anjie’s unmastered craft, yet beautiful enough to make grace of an amateur’s work. He wanted these things so that Anjie would be pleased with the art he produced.

In the afternoon, Anjie arrived at his apartment. Musheng grinned to see him clean and well, but his lips faltered soon, the grin fading as the door clicked shut.

“Anjie?”

Anjie gazed at his shoulder. “I came to thank you for the lessons,” he said. “I don’t believe I will be coming back here.”

It was suddenly cold.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

Anjie hesitated. He still did not look up.

“I am a guardian of the valley. It is not my place to be with those who are not of the valley.”

A sharp ache throbbed in his lungs. “Not your…? Anjie, you’re not some leashed spirit. This isn’t…I…” He breathed, shaking his head. “Was it your cousin? Ziyuan? Did they say something?”

Anjie placed a hand over his stomach, his eyes casting down. His voice was not even.

“I am a guardian of the valley,” he said softly. “It is my duty to protect Guilin from outsiders. I cannot be involved with someone who might become a threat.”

Musheng swallowed.

“A threat.”

Anjie turned toward the door. Musheng grasped his arm.

“Anjie. Look at me, Anjie. Heavens, you’ve seen me all this time—do I really seem like I’d ever become a threat? Please, Anjie—”

Anjie pulled his arm away.

“I don’t know that,” he said, quiet. “You are a stranger I met four months ago. You could become anything.” He looked up then, meeting Musheng’s desperate gaze with a torn one. Even then, Musheng ached to ease that pain. “I do not believe you mean us harm, Musheng. But I have feelings for you, and that makes my eyes less clear than others.”

He stepped back then, his hand on the door.

“Anjie,” whispered Musheng. “Don’t.”

Anjie lowered his head, his fingers curling in his robes. His knuckles paled to white. “I have to go now.” He hesitated. Softly, “I hope the autumn is like you dreamed.”

Musheng shook his head. Anjie left.

In the aftermath, he let his gaze trail to the dining table. Stared at the peonies before he walked there with an outstretched hand. He crushed the flowers in his fist and threw the vase at the wall, cursing as the porcelain shattered.

 

* * *

 

Autumn came and went.

Winter, 697, Musheng daily sketched the crystal ice and ghost-kissed trees, waiting for the annual Remembrance Night that celebrated the guardians of the valley. It came on the second of December, with red lanterns and white cranes adorning the provincial streets. The morning of this day, he tidied his apartment and delivered gifts to his students. In the evening, he walked the long road to the Guan estate, memorizing the air, the scent. The feeling of a light body in his arms.

When he reached the outer estate, the atmosphere smothered his softer thoughts. Music twined with steamed aromas. Children squealed and snowball fought. Stalls and tents and canopies and fire sites had been erected to see the crowd through the winter night, a gesture of love for their guardian cranes. To blend, Musheng smiled at a few of his students and laughed easy with their parents. It was not long before he spotted Anjie among the crowd, holding the hand of a little boy.

He lingered in the shadows for a time, watching. But dusk was coming, and he wanted the sunlight for these next moments. Slipping through the crowd, he approached the ground mat where Anjie was sharing pastries with two young boys. His gaze flickered up at Musheng’s shadow.

They had not spoken since the summer. Now, a gentle humor seemed to melt, slowly, from Anjie’s eyes. What replaced it was struck and hesitant, but not unwelcoming.

Musheng stopped before the edge of the mat. He grinned at the two young boys, one peering curiously at him, the other still stuffing a pie into his mouth. He turned this smile to Anjie next, softening it.

“My students tell me it’s custom to gift the guardians on this night. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve prepared something for you.”

Anjie tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. “No, not at all.”

Musheng knelt on the snow. He took a cylindrical leather container out of his bag and passed it to Anjie. Saying nothing, he watched the man uncap this container and pull out a rolled parchment. Had his eyes always been so dark? Or was that the contrast of his skin, lightened by the snow? And his lashes—the shadows of their cast danced tonight beneath the nearby firelight. Musheng wanted to trace those flickers by his fingertips.

Slowly, the parchment unrolled. Anjie’s lips parted faintly.

The boys at his side were peering over his arms. The bigger one, mouth still half-full, stopped chewing.

“Wow. Is that you, An-Ge?”

Anjie looked up. Musheng smiled gently.

“The autumn of the valley really was extraordinary. But not as much as I dreamed it would be, so I re-envisioned it. Just a little.”  

He had painted Anjie into the landscape, beneath the gentle waterfall of the turquoise water.

Anjie gazed at the painting for a moment longer. He rolled it carefully, as if a touch too harsh might crumble the canvas to ash. Looking at Musheng, he said, “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Musheng’s smile deepened for a moment. It was true: the slow soak of his watercolor into that skin, the sweeps of his brush along the curves of his body, had been beautiful moments. Nothing had been contrived when he painted this, except for the wistful image of Anjie, before him once more.

“I’m glad,” said Musheng. “You’ll keep it, I hope.”

“Of course,” said Anjie.

Musheng nodded once. His eyes fell to the hem of Anjie’s robes. “I think this is goodbye, then.”

“You are going home now?”

Back to the apartment, Anjie meant. He sounded a little disappointed.

Musheng had almost been prepared the ache in his chest and the sudden dryness of his throat.

“I’m leaving Guilin.”

The laughter of the crowd filled their silence.

“When?”

Musheng looked up. The softness of that syllable broke his heart. “There’s a truck heading out in the morning.”

Another pause.

“Where will you go?”

“The plateaus, I think. I’ve never been. And then Shanjing, Hanguo…” He smiled, though it was uncomfortable, slicked with guilt and reluctance. “There’s a lot out there to fill my canvas.”

Anjie glanced down at the one he held.

“Will you be coming back?”

Musheng hesitated. 

“Someday, perhaps.”

The ambiguous words hung. After a moment, Anjie nodded and offered his hand. 

Musheng took this hand, stung by its warmth. He thought he felt a tremor, but perhaps this was only his own uncertain illusion.

“Goodbye then, Musheng.”

Musheng tightened his grip. It was only an instant.

“Goodbye, Anjie.”

That night, he left Guilin in a rush. The departure was a part of his plan to convince the guardian that he had no invested motives about the valley, that the province was merely a landscape for his canvas. But it seemed that he also needed this time to clear his mind of that beautiful haze. To reground himself in his old and true ambitions. To fall out of love.

In 697, the first of his years with Anjie, such things had still felt possible.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: The steamed buns that Anjie delivers to Musheng are the baozi mentioned in chapter 4 by Jinyue! The lotus seed filling is a sweet dessert variant. Very yummy.
> 
> AN: This is kinda important - I made some adjustments to the physical setting of the world beyond Guilin. Since we haven't seen all that much of it, the only affected chapter is chapter 7, in which Anjie goes to the capital. You can reread or skim ch 7 if you'd like; in sum, I reduced the metropolitan tone of the "modern" world and made it a little more traditional, but still technologically advanced. This is because I fleshed out some details of parts 3 and 4 while I was away, and since those parts heavily involve the outside world, I want to make sure the story still retains main elements of the traditional Chinese atmosphere.
> 
> Also, sorry for the long wait! Updates will probably be weekly/every other week from here on - currently juggling work and an upcoming grad school application process.


	14. Interlude: Graphite Hearts & Mountain Dreams, II

A year went by.

In the winter of early 699, a message came for Anjie. It read this:

_Anjie - I'll be by Duling on January 9th. Perhaps I might see you? – Musheng_

The wiser course would have been to ignore the message, but Anjie went, telling himself it was a matter of courtesy. He discarded his Guan robes for the evening, asking a reluctant Ziyuan to cover for him in exchange for the promise that he would return the next day. By nightfall, he reached the little modern village in nondescript fashion. He had brought his sword, however—a matter of habitual precaution—and either this or other things drew passerby attention.

He did not mind it. He was busy trying to navigate the paved sidewalks and cobbled center roads. The village echoed imagery of a twentieth century Modern Era, a time before the precipice of industrialization, not so dissimilar from Guilin. But to Anjie, who had only left Guilin once before, everything was overwhelmingly foreign.

Duling, at least, was small. There were but two inns, and the receptionist at the first took Anjie's request with a polite smile. While she rang a call to one of the rooms, Anjie wandered to the lobby couches and gazed at the vivid fish in the miniature pool. It was not long before he heard footsteps approaching.

"Anjie."

He looked up. It was Musheng.

His hair was a little neater now, cropped a shorter style. Upon the surface, this appeared to be the only change. He came to a stop before Anjie, eyes sweeping his face.

"I didn't...I wasn't sure if you would come."

Anjie smiled, as he had the first time at his apartment in 697. He held out a small, wrapped package.

"For you."

Musheng removed the string and unfolded the paper to reveal baked tea pastries.

"I did make them this time," said Anjie, "so you may be disappointed at the quality, I'm afraid."

"No, I..." Musheng cleared his throat. "Thank you. Would you like to...?"

He gestured toward the direction he'd come from. Anjie nodded, curious. He remembered Musheng as a man who routinely finished his sentences. But indeed, apart from his trailing words, there was a different air. A little more vulnerable, almost. What had changed?

Anjie followed Musheng up the inn stairs, into a private windowside room. The interior was simple, containing one well-sized bed, a polished table, a chair, a lamp, soft beige curtains, and a view of the back alleys. Musheng pulled out the chair for Anjie.

"Please. I'll get you something to drink."

He ducked into an adjacent kitchenette. It was quiet as he poured the glass, returned to offer it, took his seat on the edge of the bed facing Anjie. This silence, too, was unexpected, like the aversion of Musheng's eyes, not quite lifting to Anjie's since they had first swept his face. Absent was his signature ease. Anjie wasn't sure how to ask about it, or if there was even an  _it_ —his own heart was rather fast, words escaping his racing mind.

"How long are you staying here?" said Anjie.

Musheng hesitated.

"I was only planning for a night."

Anjie nodded. "They will be expecting me back tomorrow as well."

"They know you're here?"

"Only Ziyuan." He smiled wryly. "The House is not particular to letting their cranes roam. It's a matter of security."

Musheng frowned. "I thought you had a few cousins living outside of Guilin."

"Yes. They are trained for it."

"Is this your first time out, then?"

"My second. It is also a rite of passage to visit the outside. But that was six years ago, and feels like a dream. Duling did not have murals in their station then."

Musheng offered a humored chuckle, but it was reserved.

Anjie hesitated.

"How have you been, Musheng? I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

A pause. A soft voice: "Is it so soon?"

The question struck Anjie, catching the seams of his polite mask and prying it apart. In fact, Anjie had not expected to see Musheng again, but the faint hope of it crept upon him every so often. He'd slap it away each time, irked by the sting. The first few days had been difficult—full of regret. Wishing he had never listened to Ziyuan. Wishing he had cherished what time he had been offered with the ephemeral artist.

So it was not so soon at all. Merely more than Anjie had hoped for.

Before he could find the words to express this, Musheng stood up. "I went to the plateaus after all," the man said, walking to the table where a flat leather case laid. "Shanjing too. I never made it to Hanguo, but it's been a full journey." He opened the case and pulled out a stack of parchments. "I thought you might like to see these."

He laid the parchments over the bed, luring Anjie close. There were dozens, each separated gently by a protective film. Musheng pulled up a monochrome stack first, sitting by the edge of the bed. Anjie joined him there, taking the offered paintings.

The first was of a jagged, barren landscape, snowed mountains in the distance. Despite the starkness of the imagery, the painting itself was beautiful—lyrical in the empty shadows, delicate in the swelling mounds and sharp rock edges.

"Najiaru," said Musheng. "Mid-spring. There were desert rats when I did this, but I found it difficult to put them into the painting."

Anjie flipped to the next image. The next, and the next. Monochrome became color, the jagged barren became lush green fields, interrupted twice by devastated old nuclear grounds, then covered again by the waterfall valleys of the northern capital. Anjie said nothing, afraid the sound of his voice would take him back to the reality of House Guan, where he could never see such places in person. He listened to the soft, unembellished narration of the artist, telling him the name of the place he had drawn, with the occasional comment that brought life to the image.

"I remember," said Musheng, when Anjie was on the fourth stack—there were seven more—and gazing at a mountain cityscape, "you once told me that lords and ladies should envy my freedom. I...thought so too."

There was a soft note to those words. Anjie looked up.

"It was beautiful out there," said Musheng, "like your autumn valley."

An unfinished sentiment. His eyes spoke the rest.

The autumn valley he praised, he once said, had not been as extraordinary as he'd imagined. So he had taken his liberties, but within these new landscape paintings, there was only the lonely scenery.

Anjie thought he understood. He quickly looked away, heart constricting.

"Your students miss you."

A pause.

"And the parchment vendors?" said Musheng.

Anjie shook his head.

"Are you coming back?" he said quietly.

Musheng took the paintings away. He took Anjie's hand, the dense warmth of his skin consuming, those rough callouses as vivid as color. He held this hand as if for the first time, their pulses striking out of sync—slowly, falling into sync. His instinct had surely been right: in Musheng's absence, something essential had changed. About him? Between them.  

Musheng didn't look at him.

"I don't know," he said softly. "I don't know if I can do it."

Anjie had not wanted to hear those words. He began to pull his hand away. The grip around him tightened. And though he could easily tear away from any human strength, even this fierce human strength, he paused.

"Don't leave," said Musheng. "Not yet."

But why stay, if it was only going to end in more heartache?

Musheng lowered his head. Anjie felt soft, warm lips upon the curves of his knuckles.

"Please."

He exhaled, and stayed until morning.  
  
  


* * *

  
  


They talked, gently picking up the lost rhythm of 697.

Anjie was not sure when he fell asleep, but when he woke, it was beneath the tucked covers of Musheng's bed. Musheng sat upon the nearby chair, his arms folded, his head lowered with its sleeping weight. Dawn light kissed his eyes and the tired shadows beneath.

Anjie went to unfold his arms and slip one around his shoulders. Musheng stirred then.

"Mm? What..."

Hushing the man, Anjie moved him to the bed and sat on the edge.

"...time is it?" mumbled Musheng, half-asleep.

"Still very early," said Anjie.

"Mm...can't leave without saying goodbye..."

Anjie smiled and hummed his agreement. He stroked through those shortened black curls, and soon, Musheng was asleep once more.

Afterward, he fixed himself for travel. He removed the tassel of House Guan from his sword and placed it atop Musheng's pillow, hoping, perhaps, he would use it one day. But he did not know how to ask, and he did not know how to take such a thing back into his hands should he be denied. So while the artist was encaged by his dreams, Anjie leaned down and kissed his cheek.

"Goodbye, Musheng."   
  
  


* * *

  
  


Months passed.

Anjie attended to the affairs of the House following his graduation from the college, sparing time to watch over his younger brothers as they came into the early sprouts of a rebellious period. His mother became pregnant in May with a girl, and though it would be months before her birth, they had already set aside a name for his little sister: Guan Anyun. With the promise of a new child and no pressure from the outer world, life in House Guan was as generous as it could be.

It was mid-June, late evening, when a houseboy came tapping at Anjie's chamber door.

"Master Guan. Lady Ye requests your presence in the northern guest room."

Lady Ye was Ziyuan's mother, her tailored bloodline the arbitrator of truths. Having no clue as to why she needed him, Anjie frowned as he pulled on his robes and walked to the northern guest room. This room was a smaller hall at the front of the estate built to entertain visitors, adjacent to the courtyard garden. Lady Ye was visible through the doorway as Anjie approached; entering, his steps halted.

Kneeling across the room was Jun Musheng.

Seeing Anjie, the artist lowered his head.

"Master Guan."

Anjie looked between Musheng and the lone Lady Ye. Her eyes, though decades more tested than Ziyuan's, held no hostility. No warmth either.

"Mister Jun," said Anjie, keeping his tone even as he took his seat beside Lady Ye. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Here, in Guilin, yes, he'd hoped. But here, in the estate?

"I only arrived in Guilin tonight," said Musheng, his head still bowed. "I came to seek stay in your valley. I was told that the House grants stays as well as the Council does."

Yes—Anjie had told him this, when he granted such stay. The tassle of his sword was proof that such permission extended to Musheng even now. So why come to the estate, before the eyes of Lady Ye—unless...?

Anjie swallowed, recalling the clear words of Mu Ziyuan that had driven him to push Musheng away the first time. Back then, Ziyuan insisted that they had seen a malicious dishonesty in the artist. Anjie had not taken it well, but duty obliged him to place the words of family before the charm of a stranger. Except then Jun Musheng had left Guilin, and in the wake of his footsteps, Anjie could only think about the evidence of his warm, selfless, fearless heart—if not for him, then for his students.

He had resolved to believe in his own eyes, if Musheng ever gave him the chance again.

Heart pounding, he turned to the guardian gatekeeper.

Lady Ye flicked open her fan, a graceful gesture below her lifted chin. "We've spoken already, Master Guan. He is your guest, if you will have him."

This was unexpected. Anjie breathed a subtle sigh.

"Thank you, Lady Ye." He turned to Musheng. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"Not yet. But I'm sure there are rooms open."

"Here, as well," said Anjie.

Their eyes met, holding a moment.

"If you'd like to stay with us, that is. At least for the night."

"I would...yes, I would appreciate that."

Anjie smiled. In his peripheral, Lady Ye fanned herself gently. "I will show you to your rooms," he said. "If you don't mind waiting outside for a moment?"

Musheng obliged, closing the door behind him.

In privacy, Anjie turned. "Lady Ye?"

The guardian gatekeeper lowered her fan.

"A word of caution, Ah-Jie. That man—his heart is genuine, but his intent is uncertain. As many of ours is, surely, but there is a peculiar turbulence. Do not be blind with your trust."

So it was not an unconditional approval. But leagues better than the  _malicious intent_ Ziyuan had spoken of. Accepting it, Anjie bowed his head. "Thank you, Lady Ye."

He went to escort Musheng to a spare room in the southern wing.

The walk was silent, for the members of the household still drifted by the halls, affording no privacy. Once they were inside the room itself, words rushed to Anjie's lips, but struggled to pass.

Musheng spoke first, assessing the room with a calm eye: paintings and carved wooden windows, calligraphy wishing peace and fortune upon the walls. "This is a beautiful place."

"The House takes pride in its traditions," said Anjie.

"And you? How traditional are you?"

Anjie frowned, not understanding. "I..."

Musheng dug into his pocket. He pulled out a familiar sword tassle with the Guan emblem, his lips curved into a smile, and the smile touching his eyes. "When a man gives away his house emblem in bed, it is typically a conjugal matter, no?"

Anjie felt the heat rush to his face. "I—that isn't—"

A laugh filled the room, so generous and beautiful that Anjie had to catch his breath, folding his palm over his ribs. Musheng approached before he realized it, a hand brushing the stray locks of Anjie's hair without touching his skin.

"Well, I had hope for a few months."

Anjie glanced up. Musheng's smile softened.

"I'm joking, little bird."

A pause.

"I should let you rest," said Anjie.

He had barely taken a step back when a hand grasped his wrist.

"Wait. Not yet."

The humor had slipped, his voice bare now. Anjie gazed up at Musheng, this time, truly seeing all the details. The pulse of his eyes. The new lines beneath. Musheng was seeing him too, and beneath his thoughts, Anjie's heart raced, wondering what those eyes unearthed. But the longer they gazed, the more his reservation faded. He lifted his hand, hesitant at first, until his fingers touched the skin of the artist's darkened cheeks. Gently, he brushed the shadows beneath those eyes.

"You look exhausted," said Anjie.

Musheng closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. He seemed like he could fall asleep right there.

Anjie pulled away.

"Lie down."

It didn't take much persuasion to get the man in bed. Anjie sat beside him, threading fingers through his hair as he had in Duling. A sigh swept his skin.

"Thought you were a dream last time," the artist murmured after a while. When Anjie was quiet, he continued. "Just the sound of your voice. Just you, being there. I didn't realize what you were until I'd left for a world without you."

"What am I?"

"The valley," said Musheng.

Anjie didn't understand. But the words were so quiet that he was afraid to press. Soon, those deep breaths evened into sleep. Anjie let him rest, smiling as he found his own bed.   
  
  


* * *

  
  


In the morning, Anjie delivered breakfast to Musheng's room to avoid the typical family affair. It was not an entirely successful endeavor, as little Wenzhan found Anjie setting the tray in the kitchen and tailed him to the south wing.

"I recognize you," said Musheng, smiling kindly at the boy when he opened the door.

"This is Wenzhan," said Anjie, "my youngest brother. Ah-Zhan, say hello to Musheng Gege."

Wenzhan narrowed his eyes. Musheng burst into laughter.

"Suspicious already? Clever boy."

Wenzhan tugged at Anjie's sleeve. "An-Ge, why are you eating with  _him_? He smells funny."

Musheng lifted his arm and sniffed. Anjie suppressed a grin.

"That's paint, Ah-Zhan. Were you working on something?"

"Just the view," said Musheng, moving back to pick up a parchment. Anjie glimpsed the peripheral sunrise from the southern windows as Musheng gestured the painting toward Wenzhan. "A peace offering, brother. How about it?"

Wenzhan frowned at the painting, but even so, seemed too enchanted to refuse. Sympathetic to the charm of these images, Anjie touched his shoulder lightly.

"Go on and show your brother. I will find you later, Ah-Zhan."

Reluctant, but with his eyes glued to the painting, Wenzhan sauntered down the hall. Anjie set the tray of food on the table as Musheng shut the door. " _Is_ he clever for being suspicious?"

"It's always clever to be suspicious. This looks delicious, by the way."

"I will pass your compliments to the chef after you have had a taste."

Musheng chuckled and sat across the table. Acting the proper host, Anjie set the dishes and poured his tea.

"Why did you come back, Musheng?"

There was a pause while Musheng chewed a meat bun. After swallowing, he said, "Do you just want to hear me say it?"

Anjie tilted his head, waiting.

"I missed the children," said Musheng.

"Hm. We could visit the school today."

"No, no," said Musheng, laughing. "Let's not interrupt their education. How about the valley? If you have the time, that is."

"I have some hours."

So they went to the valley after breakfast. Well off the main road, Anjie let Musheng take the lead, watching the other man navigate the unmapped valley wilds with practiced ease. He must have come through these parts often during those autumn and winter months of 697, as Anjie had. Anjie wondered how often they had almost crossed paths.

"How long do you intend to stay in Guilin?" he asked between the trees.

"I'm not sure," said Musheng. "I haven't given it much thought."

"Will you be teaching again?"

"I'm sure," said Musheng. He glanced over his shoulder. "And you? Will you be resuming your lessons? I'm rather curious about the current state of your artistic skills."

"Don't be," said Anjie. "They are quite unimpressive."

"Oh? Sounds like someone needs help."

"It would not hurt."

Musheng grinned. Anjie could hear the broad spread of it in his breath.

Soon they emerged along a lonely riverbank. Musheng led them to a small array of little waterfalls, an image intimately familiar to Anjie. Their steps slowed in the shadowed clearing, beneath the canopy of a wilting willow tree. Here the summer green was a glitter in the fluid water, not quite the hued vermilion and gold that Anjie had memorized of his gifted winter parchment, but unmistakable nonetheless.

"I liked this spot best," said Musheng. "It's comforting to see it again."

"I remember," said Anjie.

Musheng glanced at him, quizzical.

"The painting," said Anjie. He turned toward the falls, remembering the bare colors of his body within the water—the rich streaks of his hair, the faint shadows of his muscles, the ivory span of his skin, unmarred. The intimacy of the lines, visible in the brush strokes, like Musheng had touched his body to trace it so well. Mildly, he said, "It was not entirely accurate, though."

"Oh?"

Musheng sounded humored, as if expecting a light jab. But Anjie's pulse raced.

He slipped off his outermost robe. In his peripheral, Musheng stilled.

He folded the white fabric upon the moss of a nearby rock. Beneath it were the lighter black and red layers of the guardians. Eyes forward, he pushed the robes off his shoulders, letting the fabric hang loose from his elbows. When he collected his hair over his shoulder, the summer breeze swept over his bare back, burning and freezing at once.

Anjie glanced at Musheng. "The crane," he said simply.

Musheng cleared his throat as if to speak, except he didn't speak. Anjie pulled the robes back over his shoulder. In the same moment, Musheng began to dig through his pockets. He pulled out a small sketchbook and a pencil.

"May I? So I...next time."

Perhaps it was the faint fluster in that voice—butterflies fluttered in his stomach. Anjie felt the curve of a nascent smile. Though the heat still burned his skin, he nodded. He sat upon the grass and soil, and there, he slipped the robes off his upper body once more, revealing his back to the other man.

Musheng shuffled behind him. Soon, the gentle scratching began. Anjie closed his eyes. 

It seemed as if the wind carried the graphite. Despite the peace of the valley, he could not ease the instinctive tension of wanting just a little more than those pencil strokes. Where the fabric gathered and folded, when his breaths paused and released, how the heat ran in shivers, barely subtle—he was painfully aware of all these details. The moment the drawing ended, Anjie opened his eyes, looking backward.

A soft frown adorned the artist's brow, his eyes cast toward his parchment. At last he sighed, closing his sketchbook.

"Finished?" said Anjie.

Musheng shook his head. Anjie tugged the fabric over his body and walked to the artist.

"May I see?"

Musheng hesitated, then opened his sketchbook once more. Anjie sat beside him as he took the offering.

The image was striking, and as gentle as Anjie had expected. The details of his hair could be seen to the wisps of the wind, the shadows of his back to the soft filter of the willow leaves. But there was no crane.

Anjie touched the clear spot upon his graphite back. "Why not?"

"I...don't feel like I deserve it."

Anjie paused. He closed the sketchbook.

"Deserve me?"

Their eyes met. For a moment, Anjie thought he could see the turbulence that Lady Ye had spoken of. It was faint within that earthen brown, searching, fighting something. Musheng opened his lips, but no words left them. He began to shake his head.

Anjie touched his cheek, pausing the gesture. Musheng looked at him once more.

"I missed you," said Anjie.

Musheng's eyes flickered before they shut. Anjie hesitated, wondering if this was the man's way of telling him  _no_. He began to withdraw.

"No," whispered Musheng.

He caught Anjie's hand and held it tight. He kissed Anjie. 

Perhaps because, unconsciously, Anjie had wondered about these details, they flooded his mind the moment their lips touched, a torrent that slowed his time. The salt of his skin. The graze of his stubble. The creases of his lips. The pressure, soft and gentle. The palm and its pulse against his throat. The fingers and their callouses, slipping through his hair, catching his cheeks. The line of a jaw, the arch of a throat, collarbones beneath his trembling fingers. The vermilion ink of autumn peonies, incomprehensible, consuming his thoughts.

When they broke apart, they gazed at each other. Anjie touched his own lips, feeling the moist swell. Surreal.

His heart was racing so quickly.

"Heavens," whispered Musheng, his hands still in Anjie's hair, "heavens, help me."

Anjie frowned softly.

"Why do you ask for the heavens?" he said, hoarse. "Am I not enough?"

Musheng inhaled, a deep breath. He leaned forward, eyelids fluttering. Anjie placed his hands against the artist's chest and met his kiss.

This time, he sought the details that swept over him, determined to take the fullness of each. Perhaps he had wanted this from the moment of their meeting upon that rainy bridge, but everything had always been confined to their tailored parchment. A guardian crane was not raised to know, to recognize, or to indulge desire, after all. Their hearts were forever for the valley.

But Anjie wanted this warmth. The heat that chased off the summer air. The salted musk and lingering undertones of graphite and paint, no fragrance the masses would celebrate, but the distinct story of a rugged artist. He let those hands spread beneath his collar, stripping the fabric from his body, and in turn he soaked in the hard span of the artists's chest, feeling a heart drum into his palm. The sensation made him dizzy, as if those pulses whispered, in words, this man's want and fear.

He pulled away from the kiss, pressing their temples together.

Breathless, he said, "I don't know what I have to give you, Musheng. I am not...we do not often share our bodies like this. But whatever you want to take..." He lifted his eyes. "Here in the valley, it is yours."

A tremor touched his breath.

"Your heart?"

Anjie only smiled.

Musheng shut his eyes, lowering his brow to Anjie's hand and obscuring his expression. He whispered, "How can you make this offer to a man you hardly know?"

Anjie tilted his head. "But I do know you, Musheng. Your eyes see beauty, in the land and in people. In the art of your students and in the worth of their lives. And in me." Something that turned the titanium of his bones to human ivory, and the layers of his heart to their organic softness. "Perhaps there is more that I don't know. But I believe that a man who sees the world with such grace will always treat what he is given gently."

There was a pause.

At last, Musheng kissed Anjie's hand. He gazed up. "May I?"

Anjie nodded.

Musheng's hands swept aside the crane colors to drink in the human skin beneath, all of it, spreading along the length of Anjie's thighs, where no one had so intimately touched. Hesitant, but not nervous. Heated, but not impatient. Beneath his hands, Anjie felt as if he had become a part of the parchment, his body turned to graphite lines. Like he was being traced. Memorized. Transcribed delicately, in a deliberate expression of emotion and beauty.

Anjie slid his arms around the man, gasping quietly as the intimacy built. He tried to speak, to answer the soft questions that prodded for his assurance and comfort, but he could not. So leaving aside words, he reached for Musheng's desire, shivering as the heat overwhelmed his fingertips. He felt the length throb against his palm, a tremor rumble through that body, yet new to the onslaught of sensations, Anjie was too unsteady to return the giving. He buried his head against Musheng's shoulder, unreserved as the artist undid him wholly. He had not cried out in years, but for Musheng, he did.

When it was finished, he collapsed his weight against the artist's body. Musheng held him as if satisfied—and perhaps he was, but the heat of his lust still pressed between them. Though Anjie's body was at ease now, his heart still raced with desire. So he steadied his hold on the hems of Musheng's robes and pulled back.

They gazed at each other for a moment, a gentle adoration in Musheng's eyes. Those eyes asked for nothing, and perhaps it was why Anjie so viscerally wanted to give everything.

"Will you stand up?" said Anjie.

Musheng looked confused. He obliged nonetheless.

Anjie followed, lifting his crumpled robes from the ground. Standing, he kissed Musheng once more, directing his weight until the man's back hit the nearby trunk of the willow tree. A breath hitched, surprised. Anjie dropped his robes beneath his feet and knelt over them.

Musheng seemed to understand then.

"Oh, gods," he whispered.

Anjie smiled softly at him, parting the man's robes and revealing his want. With only a polite pause, Anjie leaned forward. He closed his eyes and slid Musheng between his lips, tasting the slick blend of heat and musk and vulnerability. A groan echoed through the leaves. And because those hands soon came to hover, as if resisting the inclination to grasp, Anjie broke away momentarily to kiss his palm.

"It is fine," he said.

Musheng curled his fingers in Anjie's hair. Anjie let Musheng fill him, broad, deep, as much as he could take. He was not practiced, pausing every so often to learn and adjust his giving, but his lover did not seem to mind. Soon, a thumb grazed below his lashes, a quiet prompt. Anjie lifted his eyes to a raw intensity. His name, a whisper melting the summer breeze. Not even the great science of House Guan made him feel quite as powerful as this.

At the edge, Musheng tangled his hands and tried to pull Anjie away. Surprised by the motion, Anjie was slow to follow. Heat splattered his cheeks. When it was done, his heart was beaten raw against his chest.

Musheng sank to his knees. He took a few silent moments to compose himself, and then he gazed up at Anjie. His fingers pressed away his spill from Anjie's skin, his eyes flickering to convey a flustered apology.

"We...need to wash off," mumbled Musheng. "Your family will kill me for this."

Anjie laughed, his breaths unreserved from the chemical rush. At Musheng's struck frown, Anjie covered his lips and laughed again. When he calmed, Musheng was staring at him with a soft smile.

Anjie pressed a sweat-damped curl away from his lover's forehead.

"No, Musheng, they won't."

"You have to see your reflection, little bird. I wouldn't be so sure."

Anjie smiled. "I will protect you," he said simply. Once more, he leaned forward to share a kiss with the artist, feeling those hands travel, seeking more, yet tentative still. He murmured in his ear, "Have me as you wish, Musheng. No harm will come to you in the valley."

A breath released across his skin. Soon, the earth was beneath his back. In the shadow of the wilting willow tree, Anjie felt as if he had escaped from the infallible titanium of his guardian bones, into the soft human beauty of his lover's paintings. He knew it was ephemeral—he dared not hope for permanence—but precisely so, he cherished it all the more dearly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: In Chinese culture, women don't take the surnames of their husbands when they marry, though children will tend to take his name; hence why Ziyuan and their mother have differing surnames, and hence why Anjie and his mother, whom we will meet later, also have different names.


	15. Interlude: Graphite Hearts & Mountain Dreams, III

Mid-afternoon, they returned to the Guan estate.

A shadow edged into Musheng's peace as the stone gate walls came into view; almost, he was not surprised to see a familiar face reading beneath the plum tree in the courtyard. It was Mu Ziyuan, the one whose copper eyes chilled him still, briefly before they swept over Anjie's body.

Musheng could not help but do the same, seeing the white crane robes faintly dusted with dirt and moss. The sun had dried his hair and his robes, washed in the valley falls. But the softness lingered in the guardian's eyes, barely retreating behind his sudden hesitation.

Mu Ziyuan set their book down on the bench. They stood, eyeing Musheng.

"I see you do poorly with heeding advice," said the crane.

Musheng bowed his head.

"Ziyuan," said Anjie, "please."

"I've said my part," said Ziyuan. "As for you, Mr. Jun..."

Musheng looked up. Ziyuan was pulling something out of their pocket. It landed in Musheng's hands a moment later—a small, glinting key.

"I found you an apartment in Rizhai. Third floor, by the shoeshop in the eastern square. You can move there today."

In other words, Ziyuan was kicking Musheng out of the estate.

"Thank you. I appreciate it."

A courteous lie, drawing a curve from those knowing lips. Ziyuan picked up their book and left. Anjie was silent until the other crane had vanished within the halls.

"I am sorry about that," he said softly. "The burden of suspecting outsiders falls first upon Ziyuan's shoulders. They have no ill intent toward you..."

"It's alright. I understand." Musheng brushed a loose strand of hair behind Anjie's ear. "Is it only them? You don't still..."

Anjie shook his head faintly, just as faintly leaning into Musheng's touch.

"I will walk you to your apartment."

So he did.

Within the week, a sense of normalcy returned to Musheng's life in Guilin. Several of his students reappeared at his new doorsteps, bringing along a handful of friends. Anjie was no exception: the Saturday after their time in the valley, he tapped on Musheng's apartment door with his two younger brothers in tow. The larger one, whom Musheng recognized as Wenzhan, peered at his door with a scowl. The other one, thinner and slightly taller, smiled with a practiced courtesy.

"New students for me?"

"If you don't mind," said Anjie. "You remember Wenzhan. This is his older brother, Jinyue. Ah-Zhan, you've met Musheng Gege. Ah-Yue, this is him. The man who painted the picture."

The tall one bowed, his eyes glittering.

"It was really beautiful, Mr. Jun. I've never seen anything like your paintings."

"A clever talker! You get the first months' lessons free."

"What about me?" said Wenzhan.

"You too, little crane. I'll see your big brother about the payment for the rest."

He winked at Anjie, whose cheeks tinted faintly as he pushed his brothers inside. Later, behind the obscuring walls of the kitchen, he kissed the guardian against the aged timber walls. Later still, when his brothers had gone home, he kissed him beneath his cotton bedsheets, which soon began to carry the scent of lily ginger.

The months passed in this peaceful beauty. Anjie entertained his curiosities with a soft smile, holding back only the deepest secrets of the House. There was never suspicion in his eyes when Musheng asked—only this charmed indulgence, like he was pleased his lover cared. He did care, truly. So much that he couldn't ever be sure if his questions carried intent, or merely the desire to see more of the world that created and caged this beautiful man.

In the evenings, or the mornings, when Anjie made to return to the estate, Musheng would always try to hold onto him just a little longer. Not because their time seemed short—he had undertook the infiltration of Guilin with the patience for decades—but because when Anjie was with him, he felt no act. He felt as genuine as the unarmored artist he masked himself as.

But when the door shut on him alone, the guilt and the uncertainty swallowed him.

What had he come back to Guilin for?

Sometimes, it took all the strength he had to remind himself.

 

* * *

 

November 699.

Musheng sat in the corner of the modern town bar, rubbing his nails against the edge of the envelope. His dense drink had been half downed during the wait, foam rimming the middle of the glass. He was out on a supply run again, but he'd yet to purchase his supplies.

Soon, another glass was set upon the table. A woman slid into the opposite seat.

"Been a while," she said.

Musheng smiled out of habit, his eyes still glued to the envelope, his fingers still tracing its edge. At last he tapped the corner against the wood and slid the papers across.

"A few months," he said.

The woman opened the envelope and glanced through its contents. The density of the documents occupied her eyes for a full minute. At last she gazed up with an arched eyebrow.

"Impressive. Suri wasn't talking up about you, was he?"

He shrugged, the obligatory gesture of modesty. In his peripheral, the envelope disappeared beneath the woman's winter jacket.

"How did you manage it anyway? Didn't you say they could spot lies?"

Mu Ziyuan and the Lady Ye.

In Musheng's year-long absence from Guilin, he had not simply traveled to paint charming pictures. He had dug up the legends of the Guardian House from across the continent, families whose stories dated back to the glorified days of Tianxin. It had been no easy task, but from the outskirts of an old southern province, he had discovered the lingering tale of the true gatekeeper of House Guan: not their strength or their swords, but the ability to distinguish all truths from lies.

"I didn't lie."

The woman tilted her head. "Oh?"

He chuckled. "It's complicated, Jiangfei. I doubt you'd have the patience for the whole story."

"Simplify it for me, then."

"The guardians peer after the intent of outsiders. So I found something innocuous to want, and I trained myself to want it truly. It wasn't very hard."

Too easy, in fact. There had been no training: it was only a matter of releasing his inhibitions and letting the emotions that had simmered throughout 697 consume him at last. So thorough was the devouring that he forgot himself from time to time, that often he felt like only one of two distinct halves.

"What is it?"

"A man."

The woman stared at him for a moment. "I didn't take you for the type. Can't imagine they entertained your stay because you wanted to fuck someone. Should we be concerned about where your loyalties are headed?"

"I wouldn't worry about it."

"You say that like you expect me to listen. Love is a poison for men like you, Musheng."

He shook his head, smiling.

"I slept with alley rats. Fed them my peeling flesh. Ate rotten scraps from the trash pits and watched my mother wipe the asses of sick bastards to keep us alive. Nothing's poisonous for men like me." He downed the remainder of his drink, returning an empty glass to the polished table. The glittering rim caught his eyes, pristine beneath the modern light. He spoke to the woman, but also to remind himself. "When Suri took me on back in '91, he asked me what I wanted out of this life. I want a world where children and their mothers may always like human beings. In the hundreds of thousands of years we've been around, you'd think we would have managed something so simple. But look at us today. We've been consumed by war and conquest for five hundred years."

"That's human nature," said the woman.

"No," said Musheng. "It's instability. What I want isn't possible until there's unity in the continent."

"There has been."

"It never lasts."

The woman lifted an eyebrow.

"But the valley has. I see."

He nodded. "Guilin carries the secret we need to preserve a continental peace. Not just their strength, but whatever legacy drives the Guardian House to exercise it without corruption. Compared to that, love is nothing but a good drink." He tapped his empty glass gently. "The intoxication passes."

"But you might not be in a position to await its passing." She sipped her own full glass. "It's like you said last time. If we play well, there is a good chance we can avoid bloodshed. But war, Musheng—that is what I'm asking you about. If it comes to it, could you cast your hand?"

"I already have," he said.

A pause. A smile.

"Indeed you have." The woman stood up, buttoning her winter jacket to enclose the damning documents beneath. "Your resolve is admirable, soldier. I pray it holds until the end."

She left.

Once the front doors of the bar closed and the hum of indistinct chatter swept over him, Musheng reached for the unfinished drink she had left behind. He downed it in one long draft, the liquid spilling through the corners of his lips and streaking down his throat. And though the burning haze was something lovely, it was nothing—nothing compared to the man in the valley.

A good drink?

A passing intoxication?

Heavens. He couldn't even distinguish where his own lies began and ended.

But it didn't matter. He had delivered. 699 came to an end, and Musheng, clinging the jade scales of a thirty-year dream, remained a soldier of Yulai.

 

* * *

 

In the early winter of the new century, Musheng discovered that he could charm the perpetually antagonistic Wenzhan with red bean cakes. It was on a Saturday afternoon in January that the boys deigned to paint sugar coating onto their flour pastries instead of watercolor onto parchment. Anjie was not present, occupied with the affairs of the province, leaving Musheng alone with his two younger brothers.

At present, flour dusted his kitchen table and speckled his floor. Splatters of egg yolk stuck to the rolling mat, and sugar crusted all his spoons. Anjie had not been an exception when he said his culinary skills were lacking: it turned out that none of the Guan children knew how to prepare food.

"Mu-Gege, how's this one?" said Jinyue, holding up a painted cake.

Musheng inspected the product with a pointed hum. "There's remarkable precision to the folds, Jinyue. You've quite the gift with artistry, don't you?"

Months ago, the eleven-year-old boy would take compliments with a prim, downcast blush. Today, his eyes glittered as he beamed. "An-Ge says the same about my zither. Mu-Gege, do you think I can be an artist like you one day?"

"I think—"

"You can't," said little Wenzhan, stretching a ball of dough over the table. "You gotta be a crane like An-Ge and stay in the valley."

"Not all the guardians stay in the valley," said Jinyue. "Ru-Jie is Luzhou. And Li-Ge is—"

"You're not supposed to say to outsiders!"

The brothers glanced at Musheng, one glaring, the other frowning.

The latter shook his head. "An-Ge says he's family."

"Is not!"

Musheng chuckled. "Not yet, I suppose. I'd have to marry your brother."

"No, you won't!"

"Well, I certainly won't without his family's approval." He offered the boy a doughy cake he'd just now molded into a puppy head—something Wenzhan had a habit of doodling in the corner of his papers. "So how about it, Wenzhan? You can have my batch of cakes tonight if you mark me up a point in your books."

Wenzhan eyed the puppy cake in his palm. He turned his nose with a hint of reluctance.

"Just one point."

Musheng laughed. "Quite generous, little crane."

Jinyue sighed beside them. "I'm sorry for his rudeness, Mu-Gege." He hesitated. "If it counts, you have my approval. I think you make An-Ge happy."

The words struck him. Softened from his humor, Musheng rested a hand on the boy's shoulder and waited for the boy to look up.

When their eyes met, he said, "That means the world to me, Jinyue. But don't apologize for Wenzhan."

Wenzhan paused, glancing over.

"Your older brother, Anjie...he has a very gentle heart. He sees the best in people and puts his faith in that. Sometimes, he might need his little brothers to doubt for him. To protect him. Do you understand?"

The boys looked at each other.

It was Jinyue who turned to Musheng. "But not from you. You love him."

Musheng knelt slowly. He thought of the unadulterated beauty of the valley, the still turquoise waters in peace and the glittering gold in giving, the vermilion hues of autumn like a blush and a smile, the grace beneath the shadows of those willow leaves.

"Yes," he said. "I love him very much."

Jinyue grinned, bright as the gold in his name.

"Then you'll protect him too, right?"

Musheng smiled, though he barely felt it. "Of course. Now let us get these little pastries baking, shall we?"

In the evening, he sent the boys home with two bundles each: their own, the promised extra for Wenzhan, and a gift for their mother along with Jinyue. Their little sister would be coming any day now, and though Musheng had never met the beautiful Lady Jie Zhaliu, he held this foolish hope that he might win her approval too. For what, he did not know—it was not as if he could ever be wed to Anjie, for that was an oath he dared not make and break.

Perhaps he simply wished to indulge in this illusion. A lover the gods would envy, the brilliant smiles of the valley children, a family. A beautiful and modest peace. It was everything a man should want.

Alone, he returned to the kitchen, where a small plate of pastries remained for his dinner. He paused at the table, sighting a piece less polished than the others. A round, artless ball, the folds smeared by childish fingers. Wenzhan's. He must have left one from his batch, perhaps intentionally.

A smile tugged at his lips. Musheng bit into the cake, savoring its simple warmth.

 

* * *

 

Anjie was absent throughout the week.

On Saturday, when his little brothers did not come for their lessons, Musheng traveled to the Guan estate. A simple silver gong hung by the left side of the entrance, ghostly in the early evening light. The gates were open to the courtyard as they always were before dusk and after dawn, welcoming any provincial visitors to seek the audience of the guardians. But the noble atmosphere of House Guan was somber today, evident in the eyes of the young woman who directed Musheng to Anjie.

On his way through the eastern wing, a hand grasped his shoulder. He turned in a shadowed hall to see the sharp eyes of Mu Ziyuan.

"Traveler. You are not welcomed here."

The same line as always.

"I'm looking for Anjie," said Musheng. "He hasn't come by. I'm worried about him."

Ziyuan narrowed their eyes. "It's not your concern he needs at the moment."

"Please, I just want to see him."

"And?"

Musheng paused.

"You've changed," said Ziyuan, "and my mother gave you pass for it. But I don't forget what I have seen, Jun Musheng. Such things don't vanish into the air."

He hesitated another moment.

"I came for Anjie. Will you please let me by?"

Ziyuan lingered, cold before relenting. "I won't challenge the judgment of my elders. But watch your step here, traveler. The House does not forgive those who harm our own."

Wordless, Musheng passed.

Soon he came upon the opened hall of the east wing. A white sheet draped over the entrance, painted with the immortalized crane of House Guan. Hearing silence, Musheng swept the sheet aside and stepped into the sheltered hall.

Candlelight illuminated a soft, incensed space. Two opened caskets rested side by side. Before them knelt Anjie, poised and silent in his black undergown. A boy laid sleeping at his side, covered by his crane white robes.

The guardian gazed up at Musheng's approaching shadow. Their eyes met, and then Musheng sank to his knees, taking the man into his arms. For a moment he only held Anjie, unable to smooth the rigidity from his lover's back. Then a faint tremble ran through that body, then another, another, loosening the tension in disparate moments. An unfamiliar sound echoed against his collar.

He could only press his lips against these tears, wordless.

In silence, Anjie calmed and parted from Musheng. In silence, Musheng burned his incense for the deceased. Little Jinyue slept through all of this, the dried tracks still visible upon his face.

"Where is Wenzhan?" Musheng asked at last.

"In his room," said Anjie. His voice was softer than usual, exhausted. "It is difficult for him to be around the bodies."

Musheng looked at the caskets. Kneeling, he could not see the faces inside. But the first glimpse was still vivid in his head—of an unmistakably beautiful woman and her baby.

He did not ask. But Anjie answered.

"It was the first ritual of the cranes," said Anjie. "Our bodies are operated on within the womb. Before we are ever exposed to this world, we are exposed to the duty that will define us. There hasn't been a miscarriage in years, but..." He paused. When he sighed, it sounded merely like a fragile cover for his grief. "Our shamans are only human."

Musheng was quiet. He thought Anjie had fallen silent too. But with his head lowered, the guardian continued.

"My mother was only human," he said. "My sisters..."

The crack in his voice broke Musheng's heart.

"Do you remember the day we met?" said Anjie.

"As clear as anything," said Musheng.

Anjie smiled, this aching, disjointed expression.

"I was sending flowers to her. Liyun, my twin sister. They could not leave her casket open to us like this when she passed. Her body—it could only be shown hidden below these thick layers of cloth. My baby sister, her name is Anyun. My mother named her after us."

_Is._

The candle light was dim. The shadows hid the cloud of grief, hazing those beautiful eyes.

"The legends make us into gods. But my family is only human."

His hands slid gently through his brother's hair. He gazed down at the sleeping Jinyue, a tear falling inches from the child. "I have watched so many people I love die in the name of duty. I am so afraid of losing them too, Musheng. They say what we are is noble, but tell me, Musheng—you have seen the world. Is this humane? Is it humane to demand that my brothers and my sisters, my children, their children—to demand that we give our lives unconditionally for the valley, from the moment we are conceived?"

If House Guan did not stand as it did, Guilin would be without its guardians.

But the man before Musheng now, he was not a gate statue. Not a sword. Not even the god the legends whispered of the cranes, for gods were all powerful and did not cry for their lost loves. He was human, and facing this, Musheng could only shake his head.

Anjie said, "They say it's not a matter of humanity. But we cherish this valley because it is the embodiment of our best humanity. A beauty that survives without the corruption of lust and greed. It is true. The price is not in gold. It is in the lives of my family."

A wind breezed through the white sheet, stirring the smoke of the incense. A shiver touched Anjie's body.

Musheng reached for his hand, covering the cool skin. Trying to pass as much of his warmth as was possible between the leagues of their worlds.

"You don't have to pay it," he said. "You don't have to stay here."

Anjie shook his head.

"Do not mistake me, Musheng. I would gladly die for the people of the valley. It is my brothers' lives that I cannot sacrifice." He paused, his fingers grazing the tracks of Jinyue's cheeks. He whispered, "But that may not be within my power to decide."

Musheng reached for this downcast face, his fingers lifting it gently. His thumb grazed moist skin, soft, flushed, and tired. These extraordinary metallic eyes gazed back at him, seeking no answers, but reaching for solace. Elevated to nobility beyond men, Anjie could not deny the embedded roots of his duty. But he still nurtured the fragile heart and simple values of anyone else.

Musheng realized something pivotal then. That what he revered in Anjie, what he painted as the valley—it was not simply derived from the innocence, the grace, the turquoise and vermilion. It was the ethereal beauty touched by muddied footsteps and crumpled paper in the moss. The great legend of Guilin, worn with such vulnerable humanity.

Something about it daunted the righteous peace of Musheng's dreams.

"What if there was a way?"

Anjie frowned.

"A way," said Musheng, "to spare your family this sacrifice."

Anjie hesitated.

"There are many ways. But which of them protects the valley too?" He smiled then, as if slipping back into his crane white robes. "I apologize. I say these things in grief. It is our duty to the valley that must come before all else."

"You don't believe that," Musheng said softly.

"It does not matter what I believe."

"It matters to me."

Anjie turned into his palm, kissing it. "Thank you, Musheng."

The resignation of that gentle gratitude wasn't enough. But the touch fueled a fire in his heart.

It was too early to distill his emotions into thoughts, his thoughts into reason. For so long he had known he loved Anjie, yet understanding this love was a journey he had not finished. But at this moment, he knew this: that when it was over, when he was gone, whether to hell or toward his faraway dreams, whether Anjie forgave or despised him—whatever happened, he wanted Anjie to be happy. He wanted Anjie to be free.

There is a way.

Anjie closed his eyes. Musheng turned back to the sleeping Lady Jie. Unseen, he lowered his head to the ground. He was not entirely sure what he meant by this gesture, but as his skin touched the valley wood, he felt the thrum of a nascent promise.

 


	16. Interlude: Graphite Hearts & Mountain Dreams, IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing's first: sorry for the long wait—I've been wrapping up grad school apps, wrapping up major work projects, getting ready to move back to the States after years abroad…it's been busy. I'm afraid updates will still continue to be sporadic for a few weeks until I'm officially moved/settled/etc.
> 
> Second—we're almost back at present time (one more chapter after this one)! Woohoo, more action and angst soon!

March 701, the Lord Guan Haizhen wed the Lady Na Mingbo. There was little love between them, but Anjie said it was a common beginning. There had been little love between his mother and his father as well; it was through raising him and his twin sister that their parents came to have a sense of relationship. Even so, when his mother passed last year, his father had not been seen to cry over it.

A month later, the new Lady Guan was with child. It was a matter of duty, a production of cranes. A half-brother, or a half-sister—too early to say—but Musheng could see the distraction in Anjie's eyes. They were not always vibrant, not with the loss of little Anyun and his mother so raw. The reserved shadow of his worry ached Musheng's heart.

Thursday evening, he pulled Anjie aside before the guardian took his brothers home from their art lesson. There in dusted lights of his old traditional apartment, Musheng said, "Spend the weekend with me."

Anjie tilted his head. "Here?"

"Maybe."

No suspicion, Anjie only smiled. "I will see if there is anything to attend to at the house."

An ambiguous parting, but the next evening, Anjie came anyway. They spent the night in the apartment. Morning, an hour before dawn, Musheng gently roused a sleeping Anjie and pulled him out of bed.

"Musheng?"

"I want to bring you somewhere."

"Where?"

"Come with me. Trust me."

They took a wagon to Beicheng, then caught the merchant truck to the outer town of Duling at sunrise. Anjie must have known what Musheng intended well before he stepped into the modern vehicle, but he voiced neither surprise nor protest. A silent fascination absorbed him as the windows outlined the passing road to Duling, and Musheng remembered that this was only his third time beyond the valley. Slowly, as they approached the modern town, Anjie slipped the white crane robes from his body. The guardian fabric disappeared into Musheng's bag.

They changed outfits in Duling. In a light-sleeved shirt and fitted trousers, Anjie emerged from the street shop with a vivid and dazed look.

"You mean to spend the night here?"

Musheng caught his hand. Felt the stares in their peripheral as he kissed Anjie's cheek, an act strangely bold and thrilling, free—a gesture he had dared not make publically in the valley, where the guardians were elevated so high. He said, "Not here."

They went to the rail station. Musheng purchased the tickets and gave one to Anjie. The hesitation on Anjie's brow slipped to surprise as he read the lettering.

"Guangyuan?"

"An old city," said Musheng.

"That is…it's so far from the valley. I…"

"Not so far. It will only be for a night."

"They will expect me back in the morning."

"A day, then. We'll be back in Duling by nightfall."

"I…"

Musheng slipped his hand around Anjie's. His metallic eyes flickered up, torn. The ground rumbled softly. "The train will be here soon. Come with me, Anjie. Just for a moment, let me take you away."

Slowly, the train rolled into the station. Anjie curled his fingers around Musheng's hand, and nodded.

 

* * *

 

There was the way the city lights glittered in his eyes at night, and Musheng had said they would be gone by nightfall, but in the end, he could not erase such a thing. They stayed. Anjie traced the gold-rimmed artistry of the restaurant dinner plates, sipped the vivid blue sugar of his drink, dusted the edges of the holographic advertisements, caught as if inside a dream.  _It's overwhelming_ , he had said softly, but the words came with a wistful smile.

Up on the fourth floor of their hotel room, Anjie stood by the window scene with his palm against the glass. Robed in white again—but a modern polyester white—he said after a silence, "I have seen this image before in your paintings."

Musheng joined him then, seeing his own shadow brighten the lights beyond glass. He had never painted Guangyuan, but of cities, he had many.

"Would you like to see the others?"

It was a cautious, hopeful question. One he had been holding back for months now.

Anjie smiled, saying, "I would, of course."

"I can show you."

He faced Musheng then, a loose sliver of hair falling over his shoulder, his eyes calm and clear. Something had melded over them since January, like a raw, rugged ring around the trunk of an aging tree. Somehow this did not surprise Musheng. Somehow he had known that Anjie would begin to grow into those great, harrowed willow trees of Guilin.

"I can't leave the valley, Musheng. Not like that. Not like you want me to."

"Not like you want to?"

Anjie took a step closer, sliding his hands around Musheng's, holding his fingers firmly. He looked sad. "For you," he said softly, "I believe it is a matter of freedom. But for me, it would be discarding everything that I am."

"Wouldn't you want that?"

Anjie tilted his head. Musheng pulled him into an embrace.

"Close your eyes, Anjie. Just close them for a moment. You said yourself that the valley gods curse your family. We can break that curse. You can end it—for yourself, for your brothers. The valley isn't the burden of a few sentenced cranes to protect. That duty belongs to the world. So if the world deserves to keep a place like Guilin, then let them prove it." He hesitated. "You might be surprised at what can happen."

There was a quiet moment. Anjie pulled back, smoothing the folds of Musheng's shirt by his fingertips.

"Perhaps, but I can't risk such a thing. I belong to the valley. And it is a part of my soul to see that it endures. But…"

His hands trailed down Musheng's chest.

"I never intended to ask the same of you. I still don't."

"Anjie. No, no. Look at me. That isn't why we're talking about this." He cupped the guardian's face between his hands. "I don't want to leave. Not now. And if it isn't with you, then not ever."

Anjie smiled. "I've seen so many of your paintings, Musheng. How could you confine the rest of your canvas to such a small place, even if it is beautiful?"

"I'll take trips if I need to. But I will always come back to you, Anjie." He paused. "I love you."

In four years, it was the first time he spoke these words. He felt the devastating touch of their power in Anjie's soft exhale, saw it melting the copper in his eyes. Anjie kissed him by way of answer, holding Musheng close with a strength that almost ached.

"I love you," Musheng said again.

Anjie laid his head on Musheng's shoulder. He murmured there after a moment.

"You sound surprised."

Musheng was quiet.

"I have loved you for a long time, Musheng. And I have felt your hesitation too. I know it is not always simple or beautiful for you in the valley. So when you feel like the time has come, please…go, and keep what you feel for me pure. You have my heart wherever you are, always."

"Here," he said hoarsely. "Let me have it here."

Anjie pulled away. "Of course."

He had the guardian bare beneath him moments later, and though he had always known sex as a visceral, raw act, there was something ethereal about the ink of the crane curving to the indentures of these shoulder blades, the glittering sheen above the blacks and reds. Musheng dared to sprawl his hand above the image, seeing a callused human bronze touch a phenomenal canvas. Anjie's heat soaked into his palm. His pulse, hard and fast and drumming—almost in sync with his soft gasps.  _Musheng. Musheng_. His name whispered like a prayer.

He felt so powerful. He felt so powerless. So absolutely, helplessly in love with this selfless, beautiful strength that dared lay itself open beneath him. How desperately he wished to save and to keep this man. But how weak he felt beside Anjie's own convictions.

They fell asleep together in this place well beyond Guilin, beneath the glitter of city lights. The last thing Musheng remembered was a murmur and a smile, a gentle  _thank you_.

 

* * *

 

It was late morning when they left for breakfast. Noon when they reached the rail station. There at the gates to the platform, Musheng watched the light somber in Anjie's eyes. He hated it, so he grabbed the man's wrist and said, "I forgot something."

"What is it?"

An early afternoon show at the theatre. Anjie looked like he was about to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. His eyes caught on the holographic previews screening in the foyer, and he was silent until they were seated before the stage.

Afterward, they returned to the rail station once more, where Musheng purchased the tickets. When he handed one to Anjie, the man paused and widened his eyes.

"These are for tomorrow."

"Yes."

"Musheng, they don't know where I've gone. They will be looking for me—"

"Yes, and once we return, you might have trouble leaving Guilin for quite a while."

"This is irresponsible."

"It's only a weekend."

"It was only supposed to be one day."

"Do you want me to change the ticket?"

"Yes!"

"Do you want to go back right now?"

Anjie opened his mouth. No answer.

Musheng tucked a loose strand of hair behind the guardian's ear. "Forgive me, little bird. I know you are a crane of House Guan. But I'm afraid I care more about what Anjie, the man, wants."

Anjie held the ticket in his hand. The paper folded, crinkling. At last he tucked it into his pocket.

"I want to be with you. Here. A little while longer."

 

* * *

 

The next day, they ate lunch in the city plaza before the rail's departure time. The late spring summer illuminated a busy but pleasant scape, the sun's blistering light shielded by the umbrella perch of their table. Time passed too quickly, but Anjie looked happy regardless, pleased with the sugar-glazed dessert he had ordered. He was in the middle of laughing at Musheng's story about his clever bakery thefts as a child when the atmosphere suddenly changed.

It was Anjie. His laughter halted and his body tensed. Musheng had barely processed the change when Anjie stood upright, staring at something—someone—behind him.

Musheng turned around. Almost immediately, his eyes landed on two familiar figures with faded copper eyes, both dressed in the obscure fashion of the outer towns.

"Lady Ye. Uncle Song. We were…"

"No, Ah-Jie. Save the words for your father."

Anjie looked at Musheng. He paused for a moment. "I will see you in a few days, then."

It meant:  _don't return with me_.

Musheng almost nodded, wanting to make matters easier for the guardian. But Guan Heisong was faster. "He comes with us."

"Uncle, I asked him to bring me—"

A crack echoed through the plaza. Chatter silenced for a moment. Musheng shoved upright, silverware clanking onto the stoned ground. His hands shook in disbelief as he watched Anjie touch his turned cheek, the blood blossoming red beneath his skin. But Anjie's hand fell just as quickly from this cheek, instead reaching forward to hold back Musheng, who had unconsciously stepped forward.

Guan Heisong turned to the woman beside him. "Lady Ye, would you kindly tell me whether the boy deserved that for speaking the truth, or for speaking a lie?"

"The latter, Lord Guan."

The cold copper eyes fell upon Musheng. "By common courtesy, I must restrain my hand to family. But you, traveler, will answer to the First Lord for absconding with a crane."

"That isn't what happened—"

"Guan Anjie, if I hear another word from you before we reach Guilin, I will cut out your tongue!"

"You—"

Anjie gripped Musheng's arm. A chill swallowed Musheng in the other man's obedient quiet, even as he shook his head for Musheng to restrain himself. Anjie said nothing in the hours of their travel back to the valley. Musheng, furious and uncertain, could only keep him company in silence.

It was near midnight by the time they reached the Guan estate. Little Wenzhan and Jinyue were waiting in the courtyard, the former dozing by the corridor pillars and jolting awake at a shake from his brother. As soon as they saw Anjie, they bolted into his arms. Wenzhan smeared tears and snot on Anjie's townshirt, and Anjie hushed him gently, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion as a taller shadow approached. It was Mu Ziyuan.

The two cranes looked at each other. Anjie held his brothers, accusation sharpening his eyes.

Ziyuan shook their head. "I'm sorry, Anjie. I didn't trust him."

They meant Musheng.

"You could not have at least pretended for them?"

"Your brothers deserve better than a mask."

Anjie didn't respond.

"Take the boys to bed," said Guan Heisong to Ziyuan. He turned to Anjie next. "Your father is in the hall."

Anjie released his brothers. Ziyuan pulled them away. When the boys had gone, Musheng followed Anjie to the great hall of the estate.

Inside, the First Lord Guan Haizhen sat beneath the northern inscriptions, a noble and daunting figure that was more concept than man. He had only one woman for company: a vaguely familiar shaman doctor, whispering as she knelt by his side. At the group's entrance, this shaman's copper eyes flickered across Musheng and Anjie. She lifted her hand, her sleeves shielding her lips, and whispered some last words to the First Lord before rising.

The soft firelight of the vast hall shadowed her approach. She nodded at Anjie, who continued forward. She stopped before Musheng near the southern columns and gestured toward the wooden floorspace between these columns.

Apprehensive, yet not wishing to make more trouble for Anjie, Musheng sat as she indicated. The shaman joined him there, the muscles of her bared forearms glistening beneath the light. In front of them, the escorting uncle had vanished and the Lady Ye had taken her place to the left of the First Lord. Anjie knelt at the center, a crane not dressed in the traditional white. A vulnerable man within a surreal scene.

His father arched an eyebrow, his voice a cool, calm marble.

"This is an image I never expected. My eldest son, the heir to my sword, kneels before me for the judgment of his wrongs."

Musheng felt cold. He watched Anjie intently, wishing for him to speak up. But Anjie only lowered his head, quiet.

"You left the valley without my permission. Worse—without informing the House of your intentions. I had believed you understood the gravity of such an offense. It appears that I was mistaken."

Nothing.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?"

Nothing.

"I had dared to imagine that my son might wish to shed his feathers and leave the Guan name behind. What about this, Ah-Jie? Was I correct? Were we never meant to find you in Guangyuan today?"

Musheng's pulse thundered. The accusation his father was making—that Anjie had attempted to run away—was heavy, dangerous. Surely, he thought, Anjie would deny it—but no. He was silent still.

Why?

Then the First Lord's metallic eyes flickered to the woman at his side. She was the Lady Ye, the Gatekeeper, the seer of truths. Was there something that Anjie could not deny? Or was Anjie protecting him? Sealing the truth that Musheng had tempted him with breaking his duty?

No. They would assume Anjie's guilt in his silence.

"I asked him to come with me," said Musheng. Immediately, three pairs of eyes flickered to him. "I wanted to show him the city. I—"

"I am sorry, father," said Anjie, as if in a rush to silence him. His head was lowered near the floor. "I was wrong. I will not do such a thing again."

Anger boiled.

"He isn't a prisoner, is he?" said Musheng. "This place already asks so much of him. How small of a leniency is it to let him—"

" _Musheng!_ "

Quiet.

A soft, exhaled laugh echoed through the hall. The First Lord, humorless. He looked at Musheng when he spoke.

"Traveler, you need not explain yourself. I know what you have done. My son's silence does not fool me."

"Father—"

The First Lord lifted a hand. Anjie fell quiet.

"He is afraid," said Guan Haizhen, "that for your influence, I will exile you from this place. But you are an outsider, and as such, you have done no true wrong. The mistake was my son's to let you sway him."

The line of Anjie's shoulder eased. Musheng shook his head as the First Lord stood up, a shadow that swallowed the room.

"Rise, Ah-Jie."

Anjie stood. The First Lord approached, a solemn hue to his eyes. He carried the gentle air of a parent, and somehow this was all the more unnerving.

One pace away, the First Lord stopped. He gazed at Anjie.

"The heavens in our souls, my son."

The scripture on the north wall.

Anjie lowered his head. The First Lord reached for his sword. Musheng meant to rise, but the shaman at his side held him back by an inhuman strength. He gazed onward, frozen.

The next moment seemed not to make sense. The silver blade blood wet, glittering as it slid through blue fabric. The small hitch of Anjie's breath, pained. Shocked. A hilt, a fist, a handle protruding from his chest.

It could not be real.

"Anjie?" whispered Musheng.

Anjie stumbled. Grasped the blade in his heart.

In his heart.

Musheng exhaled. Just a breath. No scream. No strength for it. Impossible—like this? Just like this, he was…

He was going to lose Anjie?

Holding the faintly trembling sword, the First Lord spoke. "This is the weight of the crane upon your back. May you never forget that all that we are, all that we have, belongs to the valley. Do not stray as men do, because we are not men."

He pulled the sword out of Anjie. Blood splattered and poured. Anjie clutched his punctured chest and fell to his knees.

Somehow, Musheng managed to touch him. Somehow, through the horror, the blank white terror of loss, he understood that Anjie had not been executed. Somehow he understood the fingers clutching at his shirt, saying through their desperate touch,  _I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

He looked up at the First Lord, who was walking away. Though Anjie would live, it felt as if Guan Haizhen had cut away something vital. As if he had mutilated this beautiful, noble man. His own son. And for what? For Musheng's ignorant selfishness. For the valley's blind doctrines.

Overwhelmed by guilt and fury, he shouted after the Lord Guan. His voice was ragged and his vision blurred.

"He was going to come back. He was going to come back!"

Guan Haizhen kept walking until he vanished. He would not understand the weight of those words. He would not understand that though Anjie's spirit was meant to be fierce and free, he still chose the valley. He would never know the love between his son and this outsider, that despite its purity and strength, Anjie  _still_ chose the valley. That even after bleeding out in Musheng's arms, after feeling the excruciating pulse of Musheng's heart beneath his palm, Anjie still pushed himself upright. Held out a trembling hand as Musheng tried to reach for him, and said, "Go."

"Anjie..."

"Please," he whispered. "I don't want you to see this."

He sounded so pained. It felt like the only way that Musheng could relieve him, and so, unsteady, he left his heart bleeding in the hall.

 

* * *

 

Out beneath the night sky, on the dirt path beyond the estate, Musheng found a tree and sat. There he regretted many things. Mostly, he regretted the plea in Anjie's voice, asking him to avert his eyes. Asking him to leave.

These burdens, he meant, were not meant for outsiders. These burdens would curse him. Cage him. Cut away his secret dreams, the ones about a better, brighter world.

Was it really better, brighter, without Anjie?

Or was it simply a frozen empty, as in the moment when he watched the blade slide through his heart?

And if it was simply empty, who was he to believe he could endure it for the greater good? He was only a man. Only a man, like Anjie should only be, like they both had the precious, beautiful humanity to be. How could he fight to give his lover something that he would throw away himself?

He went back to the apartment. Anjie did not come visit him for days. So for days, he thought, tracing the lines of his jade dragon. He thought until he realized he had known the answer for months, and he had simply been too stubborn and frightened to see it: the dragon, yes, was beautiful, but it had been crafted by human hands.

One night he brought a bottle of wine to the Guan estate. It was late night, the household asleep. He snuck through the back by a route Anjie had once shown him and navigated the silent corridors to his lover's chambers. Carefully, he slid inside the unlocked room. He glimpsed only a moment of Anjie's sleeping face before the man awoke.

"Musheng…?"

Dreams laced his voice, soft and vulnerable. Musheng smiled gently.

He sat before the writing table adjacent to the bed, where a stone bird sat upon a stack of papers. Perfect calligraphy adorned the parchment. Cross-legged, he folded these aside and placed his wine bottle on the table. He pulled out two stemmed glasses from his small leather bag while Anjie shifted upright.

"Come have a drink with me," he said.

Anjie slid off the bed, pulling his robes around his body. He went to light a single lamp. The fire and moon caressed his skin, the loose night tumble of his hair, and Musheng's heart swelled, thinking he was  _oh, so beautiful_.

When Anjie sat across from Musheng, he wore a faint look of apprehension.

"Is…" A pause. A softer voice. "Are you here to say goodbye?"

Musheng shook his head. "No."

Relief eased the draw of Anjie's brow. His lips parted in a quiet breath, and his nervous eyes softened. Musheng pulled out the cork of the wine bottle—inexpensive, simple wine with a beautiful name.  _Tiange_ ; the song of the heavens.

"I came to have a drink with you," said Musheng, pouring the wine.

Anjie paused. Smiled, a curve to his eyes still weighted with sleep. When the glasses were full, Anjie reached for the one on his end. Musheng held his hand, halting it.

"Wait."

Anjie looked up. Musheng gazed back at him.

"I'm sorry I did not understand you better," said Musheng. "I should never have asked you to leave."

"No, please, do not apologize for it. I enjoyed our time in the city…"

"Not that. I should never have asked you to give up the valley. But I see you more clearly now, and I know nothing more beautiful." He reached into his pocket. "I hope that you will allow me to stay with you."

Anjie tilted his head, appearing softened. "Of course. For as long as you would…"

Musheng revealed what he had brought. Anjie glanced down, his words fading as his eyes caught on the red yarn. He looked up, copper vivid, wide, struck. His lips parted to speak, but no words came.

Musheng waited, gazing at the man he loved. In the end, Anjie nodded once.

Musheng tied the two ends of the red string around the two stems of their wineglasses. He lifted his glass first. Anjie reached for his own glass more hesitantly, the liquid trembling like a shiver in the earth. He glanced at Musheng, who breathed, closed his eyes, and drank. When Musheng opened his eyes, he saw the glass upon Anjie's lips, the motion in his slender throat.

Their glasses returned to the table. Anjie looked downward. His lashes cast shadows, a quiet trail of tears. He reached up to brush them away, his breath hitching, whispering, "Musheng, what have you done?"

Musheng reached for his hand. Kissed it, tasting the salt of his tears.

"I made you a promise."

Anjie, still crying, laughed. A fierce warmth enveloped Musheng, a moment of his lover's raw happiness that he would take to the grave.

 

* * *

 

February 702.

Snow dusted the canopy of the woodlands, only a half-hour walk from the town of Duling. Musheng waited beneath a tree, playing with the corners of the envelope in his hand. Soon the rustling of the snowed twigs and frozen weeds began, but not from the lone pair of footsteps that he had expected.

He stood upright as four shadows appeared between the sparse trees. At their head was a familiar face—the woman Jiangfei of Yulai, as prim as always. She stopped some paces from him with a moonlit smile, eyeing the envelope in his hands.

"Dutiful as ever, Musheng."

Apprehensive, he held out the papers. Though his spine steeled, he kept his front lax. "A cold place to meet. And what is this company you bring?"

The woman opened the sealed envelope and skimmed the documents within. After a moment, she looked up at. Eyes locked, she tore a ragged line through the stack of notes on the valley guardians. Musheng shook his head faintly, dropping a hand to his hip and feeling the acute wind in his peripheral.

"That was not easy to procure," said Musheng.

"I'm sure," said Jiangfei. "I'm pleased to inform you that we have everything we need, Musheng. So we will be retiring you tonight."

He eyed the armed men behind her.

"That's it?"

"You were helpful. We followed up on your report from last year. One of the last proper ones, I believe? Well, we found that bird beyond the valley. He has been most informative, though we worried over the, ah, inconsistencies for a time." She arched an eyebrow. "We know you tried to warn him. A shame you turned too late."

He nodded. "Ah, well. We all make mistakes."

"Sadly, it is true." She sighed. "I warned you. You poisoned yourself."

"I don't think of it as such a thing."

Quiet.

The woman nodded. She stepped back. The men at her side drew their silent weapons.

"It was fascinating to know you, Jun Musheng. Thank you for your service."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: In China, the red string symbolizes linked fate, often used as a part of traditional marriages.


	17. Interlude: Graphite Hearts and Mountain Dreams, V

Dawn, within the training hall of the eastern wing, a scent of blood disrupted the innocuous salt of guardian sweat. At first Anjie dismissed it to be the occasional sparring wound, preferring to concentrate on the dance between himself and the relentless Ziyuan. A clack here, a rhythmic double there—wooden clamor nearly drowning out the labored breaths, the stumbling footsteps. Only when he heard a faint voice in that breath, a dimension to those lungs, did he snap out of his trained focus. He threw Ziyuan two steps back and turned, barely missing the swing at his arm.

A staffboy hoisted a larger man by his arm. Anjie recognized him instantly by the wild, matted curls on his head, the jaw and wet lips visible from his hanging face, that dangling jade pendant. But he could not believe it, not until he had rushed to that man's side. Musheng glanced at his face with exhausted, unfocused eyes, then dropped his weight.

"No," whispered Anjie, collapsing beside him. He tried to push the hair from Musheng's face and watched his shaking hands come away with blood. Musheng's own hands were coated, clothes wet. A crimson trail marked the ground.

"He arrived at the gates just now, Master Guan. He asked for you. He hasn't said anything—"

"Get the doctors," said Anjie.

"They're on their way."

A crowd was forming around them. Blood continued to pool. Anjie felt the metallic scent eat at his composure, but he could not afford to be careless now. Musheng was dying in his arms.

His hands still trembling, he pried gently through the soaked fabric, searching for wounds. There were many—too many—punctures and openings, some barely leaking now, and others uselessly stemmed by wads of cloth. Steel protruded from his back and from his arm. Projectiles, not of the valley.

Anjie cupped Musheng's face and lifted it. His tired eyes flickered, hazed.

"Musheng. Musheng, can you hear me?"

A faint breath fluttered over Anjie's fingers.

"Stay with me. Please..." He pressed his lips to Musheng's brow, letting his hair veil his twisting expression. "Don't leave me."

"Anjie..."

He pulled back. "Yes, I'm here. I..."

Musheng grasped a lock of his hair. Anjie touched his cold, rigid fingers.

"They know everything."

Anjie frowned. "Who?"

The grip on his hair pulled weakly. "Don't fight...will die."

"Musheng?"

"I'm sorry. I...you...so much..." 

"S-stop. No. Somebody—"

A sigh echoed through the hall. A shadow obscured the dawnlight, huing the crimson a muted dark. Anjie looked up, vision blurred, to the shaman doctor Sanhai with her arms crossed. She shook her head at the body in his arms.

"I always knew he was going to be trouble one day." She nodded at Anjie. "Bring him. Let's see if he's gone yet."

 

* * *

 

They laid Musheng out on the infirmary's traditional bed, where Sanhai told Anjie that he was going to die. He had lost too much blood, she said. Even with a transfusion, she said, the damage to his vital organs was not reversible. Too many hours had passed. It was a miracle, she said, that he had made it back to the estate breathing.

"Carried a message, I'm guessing?"

"There must be something you can do," said Anjie.

A pause.

"Not for him."

"Why not? Doctor, please. He is family."

Sanhai arched an eyebrow. "If I recall correctly, he swore no oath in the ancestral hall."

Anjie closed his eyes and lowered his head. It was always about the House. The valley. Tradition and duty. Why were the borders so coldly drawn? Not with a touch of the gentle, human warmth of his lover's paintings...

"I love him," he said.

The doctor's son and subordinates were in the room, an audience he would have minded in any other circumstances, but not this one. They seemed to pause at his soft declaration. The vulnerability of such tumultuous emotions, after all, was not befitting of a crane; least of all the First Lord's son.

Anjie looked up, tears falling as he begged.

"Please, Sanhai. He is everything to me. I can't lose him. I will give him what he needs—you can take it from my body. I will—"

The doctor tsked. "Listen to yourself, child. That is exactly why you need to let him go."

"I can't. Sanhai, save him. Please." He walked around the bed and fell to his knees before the doctor. He pressed his forehead to the wood. "Please."

The room was silent.

"Get up," said Sanhai. "Your father will kill him by his own sword if he sees this."

"Please—"

"Oh, that's enough. Feiyun, go fetch Liling and Hanrong. Yexing, prepare the operation room."

Anjie looked up, dazed by a wave of relief. His vision blurred once more.

They wheeled Musheng into the guarded room underground, one which Anjie had entered only during his three crane procedures. He was barred from it this time as well. "I'll do what I can," said Sanhai, "but I would manage my expectations if I were you. He's far enough gone as it is, and it'll take quite a bit of luck to get him through the procedure."

Anjie nodded. He could do nothing but. "Thank you."

Sanhai grunted. "I'll give you an update in a few hours."

So he waited in the infirmary for those hours, but when news came, it was not from Sanhai. Near nightfall, a messenger arrived with a summoning from his father.

"House call," said the messenger. "The Lord Guan asks that the Young Master and Doctor Guan report immediately."

"The doctor is busy," said Anjie.

"The matter is urgent," said the messenger.

Anjie nodded. He waited until the girl had gone, then instructed one of the nurses to tell Sanhai about the summoning when—and no earlier than—she was finished in the operation room. Taking a moment to make himself presentable with a quick rinse and a change of outer robes, Anjie followed the summoning to the great hall.

He was among the last to arrive. Already, over a hundred adult guardians gathered, including seventy-two cranes of the household. Excluded were the children and some of the internal staff, and the occupied doctor. A somber atmosphere coated the hall, livened only by the murmurs in the absence of his father. Anjie took his seat between the western pillars, adjacent to his uncle Guan Heisong. Cross-legged on the matting, he vanquished his thoughts of Musheng to be present in the strange moment.

"Uncle. Do you know what this is about?"

Heisong stroked his beard, a habit he practiced when he was projecting calm. Sometimes, it was a deliberate effort. "An emissary arrived in the northern council house this afternoon. Your father went to speak with them. He has just now returned, so I imagine this meeting is related to the matter."

"An emissary?"

"From the kingdom of Yulai."

Anjie knew of it: the central kingdom of the four kingdoms of the continent, established in the aftermath of the Second Warring States in 671. It was the geographically and demographically smallest of the four, a sliver between Beishan and Anzhou, extending to the edge of the western Xijia. Politically, it was overseen by the military family that united the minor provincial lords during the war—the Yu family. A literal kingdom fashioned as a feudal-style monarchy. Musheng had spoken vaguely of this place during his travels. If Anjie recalled correctly, he had lived there briefly for a time.

Most significantly, however, was that the region of Yulai encompassed Guilin. The valley was an autonomous province that existed within the kingdom's territory. Duling and Guangyuan—these places, which Anjie had visited, both belonged to Yulai.

"What brought them here?"

Heisong tilted his chin toward the northern wall. "We will hear it soon."

Indeed, the cast of the lights had flickered. Guan Haizhen entered the room with the Lady Ye at his side, both taking their customary places beneath the family script. The hall fell silent. With a sweep of his sleeves, his crane robes settled in a pool of elegant white.

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes assessing the gathering. A chill ran down Anjie's spine. When his father began to speak, it was with his usual tone of address. But his words were jarring.

"Guardians, the valley calls upon us now."

No murmurs. The ripple through the gathering was a thing of invisible, inaudible air.

"Yulai sent an emissary with an ultimatum: that we accede the valley and the loyalty of our House to its rule, or else defend it as we always have. We have seen this strike coming as we have watched the wheels of history turn—those with a lust for power have never let the valley rest. Yulai believes it is their right to possess the valley, for their kingdom encompasses the lands surrounding it. I would say it is a foolish mistake on their part, but..."

His eyes drifted toward his right, noting the Lady Ye.

"It seems that Yulai holds more confidence in their demands than we can be comfortable with. We can only presume that they have some tricks up their sleeve, to come with such a sudden demand. I do not believe there is a force in this continent that can stand against our devotion. But we must be ready to defend against anything."

Anjie's eyes flickered across the ground, his heart pounding. Musheng's wounds flashed by the lamplight.

In his peripheral, a crane by the eastern pillars moved two steps toward center, kneeling on the ground again before she addressed the First Guardian. "My Lord, what of our men in the region? Should we not wait for word or reinforcements before we give a definite response?"

Their guardians beyond the valley—several were stationed in Yulai.

"We have sent word," said Guan Haizhen. "Unfortunately, Yulai expects us to answer by dawn, or they intend to move as our enemies."

"That should be more than enough time."

"Typically," said Haizhen. "But it appears they have shut down all communication channels in the surrounding territory within their control. I have spared two of our messengers to travel, in case the matter is prolonged. But in the meantime, we must prepare without their aid."

The crane bowed and slid back into place. Another one spoke up, addressing the hall. 

"If it is war they want, they should prepare their whites."

"No."

Eyes, all hundred pairs, turned to Anjie. He swallowed, stepping forward, then kneeling again.

"I have a message from a friend. Most of you know him. Jun Musheng. He arrived back at the estate this morning, severely wounded and near death. He was incoherent, so I was not able to make sense of his words until now. 'They know everything. Do not fight. You will die.'" Anjie looked at his father. "He was speaking of Yulai."

Guan Haizhen gazed back for a moment. "How is your friend involved with Yulai, Ah-Jie?" 

Anjie heard the undertone. Opposite the hall, he felt Ziyuan's eyes.

"He went to Duling yesterday to purchase some supplies. He carries a Guan emblem with him for passage. It was my gift. I believe that they recognized it and confronted him."

"They severely wounded him, you said. If he was carrying our emblem, then why would they risk such a provocation before receiving a response from the emissary?"

"I do not know. But he bled the hours back to our house to give us this warning. We should not dismiss it lightly."

The hall paused with soft murmurs. A moment later, Anjie's father spoke again.

"Our loyalty is to the valley. Surrendering either is no option. Therefore, we can only proceed against Yulai. We will take as much caution as we can afford, however."

"Negotiate with them," said Anjie.

The abruptness of his response left a surprised silence. His father arched an eyebrow, an uncommon expression.

"There is nothing to negotiate."

"I know that," said Anjie. He felt tense, desperate. He felt Musheng's blood still coating his hands, and his brothers in his arms. "But try. Lie if you must. Stall for time—"

Guan Heisong cleared his throat behind Anjie. Anjie paused briefly, checking his tone.

"My Lord," he said again, "Jun Musheng has been with us for four years now. He may not be aware of our capabilities as they truly are, but he understands enough of our history and of our—devotion—to speak his words with weight. And like you, I do not believe that Yulai would have attempted to kill him simply for carrying the Guan emblem. I believe he has information that can help us—information that we need. Doctor Sanhai is treating him right now. If we can delay until he recovers—"

"If he recovers."

Anjie looked to his right. By the southern pillars, one of the subordinate doctors was shifting forward to speak.

"Pardon my interruption, Master Guan, but this I must make known. I have seen the condition of Mister Jun myself. He was all but dead when he was delivered to the infirmary. While a chance exists that he may survive, it is slim, and it will certainly take days for a conscious recovery. We must consider whether we can delay for so long."

"We cannot," said Guan Haizhen.

"Father—"

The First Lord lifted a hand.

"No. The enemy will have considered this as well. It is indeed likely that Jun Musheng possesses information that would greatly help us, and having him killed would be Yulai's initiative on this. Since he has returned to us, however, they may be feeling pressured to move before we can utilize this information. They will not give us any exits if we attempt to negotiate."

"But we must at least try. There are too many lives at stake—"

"Anjie."

Anjie fell quiet.

"This will be my second dance with the ugly matter of war. For many of our young cranes, it will be your first. We live in a valley that embodies the beauty of peace, a precious beauty untouched by the lust of men. I understand how much like an inconceivable nightmare it must seem to face battle now. But it is for this nightmare that House Guan exists." Haizhen turned to Anjie, his voice softening, almost imperceptibly. "The beauty of Guilin was never ours to enjoy, guardian. It is ours to protect, until our last breath."

The words hung like a death sentence. Anjie shook his head, searching for a reply that would not form. What could he say to such conviction? To the nobility of purpose that resonated with everyone inside this room, except for him?

He felt like a coward. But he could not stop being afraid.

The House made its preparations. Come dawn, they would meet Yulai in their crane white robes, soaking the blood so that it may not tarnish the turquoise of the valley.

 

* * *

 

 "I'm going to give you a choice, Anjie."

In the empty infirmary, Sanhai poured a third cup of wine. Her copper eyes were lined, exhausted.

"He's not going to make it if I go out there tomorrow. That's a fact. Condition's not stable. Need a manual reconfiguration every hour. He might not make it even if I stay, but he's definitely not making it if I defend the valley like I'm supposed to."

Anjie was silent, staring at the untouched golden liquid in his own cup. How he wished to waste himself on alcohol—if only he could afford such a slip.

"We have seventy-three cranes, Anjie, and you know as well as I do how a single crane stacks on the scale. Considering your boyfriend's warning, I'd be doing the enemy a serious favor by staying back. Hell, it might even amount to treason."

"I cannot let him die," he said.

"I know." Sanhai sighed, then started her third cup of wine. "You'll be a mess on the battlefield if I'm there. I was thinking about lying to you. It would have been the most practical thing to do. But I believe I owe you this respect."

"You mentioned a choice. What is it?"

Sanhai sipped at her drink. After half the cup was downed, she set it back upon the infirmary table, then pushed upright. She dusted her black robes idly as she wandered off, disappearing into an adjacent office. Anjie waited for a heavy moment before the doctor returned. She sat cross-legged across the table once more, placing a small vial of clear liquid between them. On closer inspection, Anjie saw a thin, long needle within the clear cap of the vial. An injection.

"This," said Sanhai.

"This."

She nodded. "This is one half of an inheritance. It belongs to me. It belonged to my mother before me. In time, it will belong to my son. But not yet—he is not ready yet."

"What is it?"

"It's a safeguard. Guilin has stood for so long because of its cranes, no? And its cranes have stood victorious because of our science. Everything up here." She tapped her head. "Your father would have told you this in time, but time is coming up rather quickly. You see, knowledge is the ultimate power. Our shamans all possess pieces of it, but the burden of the whole is given only to one person, just as the burden of the First Lord, the burden of the Gatekeeper, each fall only upon one person. But what happens when an enemy gets their hands on this one person?"

Anjie's eyes fell to the vial.

"That's right," said Sanhai. "We need a safeguard."

"A suicide device?"

She shook her head, digging into her robes. She pulled out a colored blue vial, smaller than the clear one on the table. "Like I said, it's one half of an inheritance. This one's the poison. Last resort, because then our poor leftover shamans have to piece the whole together like a very challenging puzzle. This one is a different kind of safeguard."

She pocketed the blue vial and nodded toward the clear one.

"My son has never won a fight against you, has he?"

Anjie shook his head.

"And I never will either," said Sanhai. "The kind of knowledge we possess is enough to start an empire. The safeguard of the House against us is to cripple us—at least in comparison to the other cranes. That way, should we ever stray, the House can easily overpower us. In theory." She chuckled. "A clever doctor can probably outsmart a horde of supermen, I think. Anyway—back on topic. Our weakness makes us vulnerable to threats as well. So our ancestors developed a way to compensate, without entirely overriding the safeguard."

"What is this injection for, Doctor?"

"It activates a code sequence in our DNA, which increases the internal processing rate two-fold. That means intensely enhanced regeneration, along with enhanced reflexes and muscle speed. Decreased sensory perception delay as well, which can be troublesome for a while—don't know, I've never tried it. That's because it can only be used once. The effects are permanent. The code cannot be deactivated."

Anjie paused.

"There is a cost."

"Naturally. Your body compacts time. It means it gets less of it. It comes with a sixty to ninety-nine percent reduction in lifespan, depending on factors such as age, exertion, body condition, so on. It's meant to get us out of a tricky situation, but only for long enough to pass on our knowledge."

Sixty to ninety-nine percent. A crane's lifespan, barring interference, was about a hundred and fifty years. That meant, at minimum, losing ninety years. No wonder this was a secret in a vial. They could not create cranes at a rate efficient enough to make up for the century of life lost per crane.

"Why are you showing this to me?" Anjie said warily.

"It's not just a safeguard for shamans, child. It's a safeguard for the house. A chief shaman has been on the battlefield of every war since our inception, carrying this little vial. We haven't needed it for war, but your friend claims the cards are stacked against us. Gods help us not to use it, but it should be on the field."

Anjie stared at the lethal liquid.

Sanhai continued.

"I will carry it if you prefer. It is my duty, after all. I'll leave my best doctor with your friend, and I will—"

Anjie reached forward, taking the vial. _Slim chance he’ll make it,_  she'd said. He couldn't cut those chances down any further. He needed her to stay with Musheng. 

Sanhai sighed. He could not tell if it was of relief, or disappointment.

"I am sorry to put this on you, Anjie. But it must be done."

"Musheng is my responsibility. I understand."

"No, not quite. You will be First Guardian one day, Anjie. The valley is your responsibility. You may fall in love as you wish. But if you wish to keep that freedom without casting the Guan name aside, then you must shoulder the burden properly." 

Anjie glanced at the vial in his palm. Its crystal coat was quickly warming into the temperature of his skin. Though Sanhai called this thing a burden, it somehow eased a weight from his shoulders.

He looked up at the doctor. "Thank you, Sanhai."

"Thank you?" She laughed. "Well. May it serve you only as a charm, and nothing more. And one more thing, Anjie—if anyone must, this injection should only be taken when they are adequately healthy. A weak body may not survive the turn."

He tucked the vial away. "Can I...may I see him? Just for a moment?"

Sanhai hesitated.

"A moment, then."

In the operation room, an otherworldly place that Anjie had not the space of mind to register, he met the sleeping Musheng, pale as death. Beside him, a screen jolted with jagged lines, beeping like the faint chirps of a bird. "His heartbeat," said Sanhai.

Anjie smiled, or tried to. He pressed a soft sheen of sweat from the artist's brow, and gently kissed him there. "Come back to me," he whispered. "I will come back to you."

 

* * *

 

The messenger came at dawn, saying that Yulai had consolidated its forces by the northern passage toward Beicheng, a number in the thousands with strange arms. Crossbows, she said. Spearlike, electric. The guardians must have had their suspicions. But nobody voiced doubt.

They amassed beyond the first valley gates of Beicheng, upon the border of Yulai territory. The road here was narrow, worn only by the merchant trucks and occasional wanderers. A forest covered the remaining expanse around the valley—the lin in Guilin, the shadows from which the legendary ghosts emerged to consume lustful invaders. In the past, Guan Haizhen said, there had only been twice that the bloodshed reached the valley itself. There would not be a third time today.

He was a haunting image in the filtered dawnlight, the First Guardian. With the ancestral sword of all their legendary victories at his side, how could anyone question him? So in their ghostly robes, a hundred and thirteen cranes and guardians vanished into the forest beyond the valley, taking their traditional places as the birds scattered from the trees, as the rumbling march of the enemy approached.

Then the forest went still.

The road was empty.

Anjie, who was among the first advance, felt little surprise. Only apprehension. _They know everything_ , Musheng had said. What else had the traveling artist said, of light and shadows, forests and birds, those barren fields of old, brutal wars?

The cranes had dispersed by then. Anjie was with only his uncle Heisong. In the sudden silence, they paused, two stark white figures in the shadowed green.

"Get behind—"

An explosion echoed in the distance. A second one followed just meters away, a thundering boom. Anjie had ducked behind a tree for cover. But there was no debris, no smoke—only a ringing in his ears that jarred his skull. Paces away, his uncle spoke words he could not decipher.

Then came the glint.

"Uncle—!"

Heisong dodged, lightspeed. A pointed blade soared past him. For only a moment, his eyes met Anjie's, alarmed. But the onslaught continued. Mechanical. Relentless. Calculated, not by human precision. 

The second projectile missed Heisong's cheek. The third halted in his right palm, the fourth in his left. The fifth hit.

Anjie froze. His sword arm fell with the weight of his blade. His uncle stumbled backward, a steel spear protruding from his copper eye. Within moments, Guan Heisong fell to the ground, dead. 

 

* * *

 

His father had said today would not be the third time the enemy touched the valley, but it was.

By the late afternoon, what whittled third remained of the Yulai army stormed through the streets of Beicheng. The villagers had been evacuated in the night, consolidated in the valley inners. Now the buildings were barren, burning. Windows shattered. High off of reckless grief, bloodlust, hard-won victory, the soldiers with the vicious machinery hunted the surviving cranes.

A horde of these soldiers jogged past a thin, muddy alley. Just around the dead-end corner of this alley, shadowed by an old shingled roof, Anjie sat, clutching the gaping wound in his thigh. His hands were trembling too fiercely to interfere with the bleeding. But it hardly mattered. He had lost near two bodies' worth of blood already, and his regeneration could only sustain him for so long.

How exhausted he felt. The weight pulled at him, begging him to rest. Who would he join? How many had died? His father, his aunt? Lady Ye? Ziyuan? Was Ziyuan alive?

He didn't know. The morning had been a blur of battle, endless motion, the only way to survive the relentless, automated machines that targeted their singularly vulnerable eyes. He'd killed so many people. Walked over so many bodies. Stumbled over white, soaked robes as well—friends, mentors. They were supposed to be the hunters, the dauntless ghosts clearing the crowds that dared to cross their paths. Instead, they had somehow been cornered back within the valley gates.

That the enemy was here meant that most of the guardians had fallen. Only a small number of their warriors had been instructed to remain near the estate, in case of enemy detachments. But it would not be an enemy detachment coming for them. It would be the entire surviving army.

A clamor of shouts and machine fire rang in the near distance. Anjie leaned his head back against the brick, closing his eyes. He thought of this early morning, when the sky was still dark. Before he left the grounds, he held his newborn sister. They had named her Wenbo. She had tugged viciously at his hair, too strong, giggling all the while with cleverness beyond a month old baby. He had promised her that he would keep her safe. Jinyue and Wenzhan too.

He had told Musheng that he would come back. Now, he was not certain if he could make it back. A bad leg, exhausted. If he was lucky, he would die fighting. If he was not, they would take him alive and dissect the house secrets out of him. Maybe they had taken a few cranes already.

He pulled his bloodied hand away from his leg. Unsteady, he rifled through his inner robes. It was difficult to locate the little vial among the wet folds, and then it was difficult to hold it properly. This time, his hands trembled from more than fatigue.

Would it make a difference?

Or would it just kill him?

Sanhai said a weak body might not survive the turn. It was what had kept him from using it when he first recalled the option—nerves and inexperience had earned him an early heavy injury, and losing a crane would have only disadvantaged them more. But it was not a matter of advantage now. It was about survival. The valley. His family. Musheng. 

Anjie bit off the vial cap. He twisted out the syringe and closed his eyes.

He whispered, "Mother, father, heaven, earth. Let me protect them. Please, let me live."

He injected the serum.

He dropped the vial just after, throwing a hand over his mouth as the burning began. His vision blurred. His muscles contracted. Red flashed vivid, and a small, thin noise slipped past his fingers. He doubled over, curling against the wet ground. Then he could not breathe, and rolling onto his back, clutching at his throat, he stared at the fading blue sky. Everything vanished.

 

* * *

 

Waking, the world felt unbearably heavy.

Then a touch drifted by his cheek, carrying the gentle scent of lily ginger. He opened his eyes, believing it was only a dream. But the face which met him was as beautiful as life, only those copper eyes a shade lighter than he remembered. Only those eyes, still soft, a hint that this was impossible.

"I must be in the wrong place," Musheng whispered. 

Anjie smiled. He was framed by the classic polish of those valley wood window frames, the vivid blue of the early spring sky behind him. Loose silk locks, pure white robes. Flawless.

"No," said Anjie. "Welcome back."

"I..."

A wave of relief swept Musheng. Then a wash of panic: jarred, he pushed upright. His head swam. Anjie leaned forward to steady him.

"Yulai—they are coming with an army—"

"Hush. It is past. We are safe now."

He shook his head, trying to understand what Anjie was saying. He did not speak with the voice of a man who had surrendered his valley and his name.

"It's past?"

"They will be back, I believe. But not for a time."

"What happened?"

Anjie did not respond. Instead, he touched Musheng's jaw. He kissed Musheng softly, slowly. Musheng had resigned himself to losing this forever when he met Jiangfei in the Duling woodlands, so he could not help but forget himself in the touch, the taste, the fragile warmth. Any moment now. Any moment now, the truth would come to light, and it would be over.

Indeed, a rapping, sharp as knives, came on the door. They broke apart.

"Come in," said Anjie.

Musheng turned. He saw that he was in unfamiliar private quarters, decorated and spacious. A young man in crane white had opened the door, where he now knelt with a bowed head.

"Lord Guan. Lady Na requests your assistance regarding matters of the ceremony."

"Tell her I will be there in a moment. Thank you, Sueyi."

The man bowed. The door closed. Musheng turned to Anjie.

"Lord Guan?"

Anjie rose, walking around the bed. "To answer your earlier question, much has happened since your return." He knelt before the tea table next, where a plate with covered bowls was laid. He began to set the meal. "I will tell you everything soon, Musheng. But I would like you to focus on your recovery first." He looked up at Musheng, who had stumbled on feeble legs to sit across the table. "Please, for my peace of mind."

Musheng nodded, helpless to that soft please. 

"Thank you. I must be leaving now for some family matters. I..."

Anjie paused, looking leftward, toward the window. Musheng traced the line of his profile, down the arch of his throat, the slip of his collar. His heart ached, a feeling he did not have the courage to dissect just now. At last, the guardian gazed back at Musheng.

"There is...there will be a ceremony this evening, at dusk, by the ancestral grounds. If you are feeling well..."

Musheng frowned. The uncertainty in his words was not like Anjie.

"Anjie? What is it?" 

Anjie cleared his throat.

"It is customary for all members of the house to attend. And for persons of your particular position."

"My particular...?" He paused, understanding. Breathless. Was it possible? That he was still suspended in this dream? This beautiful lie? 

Anjie smiled. "Yes. Then, I will be going now."

Musheng nodded. Before he could think of words to say, the door closed.

In the evening, after much difficult thinking and painful musing, he dressed in the robes folded atop the stool. A familiar white fabric was the last of the pile, and he would have been surprised, but Musheng believed he understood what was happening. What had happened. He only struggled to believe it.

Beyond the private quarters, Musheng found the estate at a ghostly paradox: empty, yet humming with life. The few members of the household he ran into seemed hurried by purpose, but in the interim of their passing, the halls were unusually barren. It was in the outer corridor to the great hall, dusk light setting, that he sighted the only familiar figure he would have rather avoided.

Mu Ziyuan walked his way appearing as if they meant to pass him. Musheng slowed his step, a word upon his lip. But at the moment of their intersection, before he spoke, Ziyuan suddenly grasped his shoulder and shoved him into the corridor pillar. He grunted, swallowing the intent pain.

" _It was you.”_

The blood left his skull. Musheng looked into those copper eyes, trying to remember—it wasn't him. Not him. Not truly. 

"What was me?"

Ziyuan gripped his collar tighter. "Do not play us for fools, foreigner. _He_ may choose to look the other way—he will see nothing but the best of you. But I do not forget who came to us with veiled eyes only years ago—the _only_ outsider to pass our gates before the enemy came."

"I am not the enemy, Ziyuan."

"Tell that to his father. To my mother. To the eighty-six guardians who died defending the valley. Tell that to our First Guardian, when I drag you to his feet tonight."

Musheng inhaled, unsteady at this new knowledge. His gaze slipped.

"I..."

The hold on his collar tightened. For a brief moment, he had the visceral image of kneeling before his lover, seeing those soft eyes harden, hearing that gentle voice cut. Worse—beneath those small gestures of hate, knowing how he had broken that heart, now, of all times.

"No," he said, gripping Ziyuan's wrist. "No. You're wrong. Ziyuan, don't do this—"

"Look at me," hissed the guardian. "Look me in the eye. Look me in the eye and tell me you had nothing to do with this!"

Musheng looked into those ghostly, metallic eyes. He felt bare beneath them. Raw and afraid. But he also saw the echo of Anjie's eyes, that soft smile, and how desperate he was to preserve it, just a little bit longer.

"I tried to protect him," he said. "I would do anything to protect him. If you believe this is protecting him, then go on. I will kneel at his feet."

That metallic copper pried him apart.

For a while, Ziyuan did not move. For a while, Musheng believed it was over. Everything.

At last, the guardian stepped away.

"Jun Musheng." They looked forward, folding their crane robes smooth, as if nothing had transpired. "I believe in the great cosmic balance. One day, there will be a reckoning. On that day, may the truth of your words still hold." 

Ziyuan left. The reckoning they spoke of did not come this day. It was too soon. The valley was too vulnerable. They still needed him.

Instead, in the open mountain hollow where the ancestors of House Guan rested, the guardians gathered. No more than five dozen—survivors, house staff, and many Musheng did not recognize. Eighty-six dead, Ziyuan said. The Lady Ye. The Lord Guan.

An escort led Musheng to the front, toward little Jinyue and Wenzhan, the Lady Na and baby Wenbo, the mute Guan Baisun, and the Guan line of shamans—Sanhai and her son. It was a place for family. Splintered, quiet family. The boys would not look up, and as Musheng knelt beside them, a voice echoed in his skull.

_What have you done? Look at what you have done._

But he had slept through the bloodshed. The bodies. The burials.

He searched for the eyes of Mu Ziyuan, waiting to be mocked an imposter. But the gatekeeper, taking their place steps away, did not once glance his way.

Only Anjie. Only Anjie, who in the solemnity of the moment did not smile, but whose eyes curved imperceptibly in a smile only Musheng recognized. He did not ask how, among such a stripped gathering, below such heavy valley burdens, Anjie managed such a gentle thing. He was only grateful that the gods still allowed him to ease that heart—and regretful, so painfully, uselessly regretful, that he had come to witness this moment.

Sanhai, Chief Shaman of the House, rose to present the ancestral sword. She knelt before Anjie, wordless. He took the sword from its sheathe in a moment of strange, alien grace. Then Sanhai withdrew, leaving Anjie alone in the incensed center of the towering graves. The navy dusk above him. The ancient ground below him.

He closed his eyes. He sank the sword into the earth and fell to his knees. He gripped the hilt by his left hand, the blade by his right. In viscous reluctance his blood slid down, soaking into the valley. But when he spoke, his voice was sure and calm.

"By the mountains in my bones and the rivers in my veins. By the earth within my heart and the heavens in my soul. No lust shall blacken these forests. No blood shall taint these waters. No man shall tarnish this sanctity. This I swear as Guan An Jie, the First Guardian of the Valley."


End file.
